


Binary

by Happyritas



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Autism, Autism Acceptance, Autism Awareness, Autism Spectrum, BBC, BBC Sherlock - Freeform, Binary code, Character of Color, Child Molest, Child Neglect, F/F, F/M, Female Character of Color, French Character of Color, High Functioning Autism, Johnlock - Freeform, Other, Physical Abuse, Sexual Abuse, Substance Abuse, Trigger Warnings, Verbal Abuse, binary
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-20
Updated: 2018-05-09
Packaged: 2018-09-25 17:17:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 11
Words: 23,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9833054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Happyritas/pseuds/Happyritas
Summary: The world Charmayne lived in was binary, meaning there were two parts.The first part of the world was the world where normal people lived. They were the vast majority, and definitely too much to handle for Charmayne's world.Then, there was her's. It was strange, everything that seemed normal to everyone else was made out of a... Code. Nobody believed her when she tried to tell them, and she didn't blame them, she was stupid after all. Well, that was until one day where a pale man with curly hair managed to stumble his way into her mysterious world.» - » - » - » - » - » - » - » - » - » - » - » - » - » - » - »This beautiful cover was made by @Elphadora on Wattpad!I do not own Sherlock, however I do own Charmayne and her story.Trigger warning: Several mentions of child abuse, child neglect, and sexual abuse. If you are unable with these topics, I suggest you do not read.





	1. Disclaimer

**Before I start this story, I would like to thank** **elphadora** **again for making such a gorgeous cover (on Wattpad)! Go check out her story,** **_Twilight Deceivers_ ** **and her graphics book** **_Ethereal Graphics_ ** **to request a cover as well!**

 **I would also like to mention that** **_Binary_ ** **, along with another one of my stories,** **_A Child's Mind_ ** **, was written to raise awareness for autism. If you would like learn more about autism and what it is, check out** **_www.autism-society.org_ ** **or the _Parenting Autistic Children with Love & Acceptance_ organization!**

 **I'll see y'all next time! I hope you enjoy reading!**  
**~ Happyritas <OOO**


	2. 00110001

**Chapter One:**

Charmayne stumbled down the heavily populated London streets in a dazed fashion. She had been far too exhausted and hungry to even process the masses of bodies that push and walked by her. She desperately wanted something to eat, especially after being starved for the past week.

Charmayne crossed her arms tightly over her chest, her body trembling as she passed several stories that smelled of delicious, juicy, mouthwatering foods. Charmayne let out a small groan as her stomach rumbles loudly again.

She needed to eat something. Charmayne began to scan the streets, all the small shops as restaurants were either full, or had people crowding near the entrances. Charmayne wasn't stupid, or crazy enough to go to there. So, she continued to look, biting the inside of her cheek, and twisting her arms tighter whenever she passed a shop she wasn't able to go in.

Charmayne smelled a pastries, and gave out a sigh. She followed the scent to a rather tall building, which she verified as an apartment building after processing it for a second. There were two people outside talking and Charmayne could've jumped for joy.

Stealthily, she snuck into the house as the woman and man continued to talk outside the apartments. Not daring to glance back, Charmayne entered the main hall.

It took her a second to process the room. It was small, there was a brown cabinet near the side, and a coat rack. A staircase leading to upstairs sat in the corner, and a small table with a floor length brown tablecloth was against the wall a few feet in front of her. On top of the table was a plate full of steaming scones fresh from the oven.

Charmayne's mouth watered as she ran over, snatching the scone as if her life depended on it, and shoved it in her mouth messily. Crumbs fell all over the floor, but she hardly cared. She finished the first in seconds and started on the next. By the time she was on her fourth, she heard footsteps from the stairs.

Charmayne was hardly thinking as she dove under the small table hiding beneath the long tablecloth. Her heart pounded as she heard a man step onto the wood flooring. Someone else must've heard too, because another man called out. "Hurry up, Sherlock! She hasn't got all day!"

"I'm coming!" The man inside replied. He stepped over to grab something near the coat rack, then paused. Everything was silent and Charmayne could only hear the blood pounding in her ears. She placed a hand over her mouth to keep from breathing loudly.

Charmayne stared as a dark shadow came over the curtain, and two fingers reached near the bottom. Tears jumped in her eyes as the man slowly moved the tablecloth and—

"Sherlock! Come on," The man from earlier snapped, making Charmayne jump. Her head hit the top or the table, causing a few dishes to clatter. The room was silent again and Charmayne began to tremble, she was dead, dead, dead. Dead, she was. Was she dead? She was dead.

"What...Was that?" The other man asked slowly.

"That's what I'm trying to find out," Sherlock grumbled, and quickly lifted the tablecloth. Charmayne was already crying and shaking underneath the table. The scone lied at her feet, discarded helplessly. She didn't look up past her knees as the men spoke again.

"What was it?"

"A child. Homeless, probably starving. I'll phone child services," the first man said, making a small grunt as he stood.

The other man came over to see, and sighed. "Why... Don't you come out from under there, love," John spoke softly, Charmayne sniffed, but didn't move. "Aren't you just hungry? I'll grab you more food if you come out." Charmayne slowly looked up. The man before her smiled. He had blue eyes and extremely light blond hair. He extended a tanned hand to her, and Charmayne recoiled.

"Hello, there is a child in our flat stealing scones," the first man said. "Supposedly homeless, but might have ran away. Will you come get her?" He paused, "221 Baker Street, my number is—" it took Charmayne a second to understand what he was doing, but as soon as she did, she ran.

Charmayne crawled out from underneath the table, and ran at he man who was standing, with a cellphone to his ear. He looked at her and rose an eyebrow, but Charmayne was at his side, pulling on his shirt. "No, no no! No, no! No! No, no, no! N–No, no, no, no, no!" She begged, clinging to his shirt.

The man made an annoyed look and rolled his eyes, "Tomorrow? That is fine. Is that all? Yes, okay." He hung up, and then pried her off him.

Charmayne stood there for a second, staring at him before tears began to blur her eyes. She fell to her knees, sobbing into her hands. She was going  to go back to them, she didn't want to go back to them!

A hand touched her shoulder, and she jolted, scrambling to get away. "Oh, sweetheart, what's the matter?" A older woman's voice spoke. She looked at her, not having the strength to process her code. "C'mere, dear, let's get you cleaned up," The woman sent out what looked like a hand, and Charmayne hesitantly took it.

The woman lead her through a... Door, leading into another room. Charmayne didn't bother to figure out the code of the rest, as they entered what seemed like a bathroom.

Charmayne rubbed her cheeks, and tried to process where she was. There was a toilet and a tub beside it. On the other side was a porcelain sink with a mirror above. "Wash your face now, and then we'll figure out what to do with you," the woman gave her a smile and a pat on the shoulders, before turning to leave.

Charmayne stared at her reflection, watching as tears grew in her own eyes. She remembered the man calling child services earlier and couldn't help herself as she began to cry again.

**» - » - » - »**

Charmayne stepped out of the bathroom, and carefully walked down the hall. She looked around for any signs of exits, but sighed when she saw nothing of the sort. In the main hall sat the three adults at the small table. The one with the really light blond hair was in the middle of speaking, "... Away, maybe her parents are worried for her."

"Or, she is most likely an orphan, and somehow ended up on the streets instead of in a home," the other one said.

"Well, we should take care of her," the older woman spoke sharply. "At least until services come. John have you got anything something she can wear? An old college shirt will do. John, what's the time? I'll be late for my plane if we don't hurry."

"It's six past one, your flight is at three, right? We'll call another cabbie. And I should have some clothes upstairs," the other man, John replied.

"You two are talking like she is going to stay here," the first man said, almost annoyed.

"Well, she might have to if we can't find her a home," John snapped with a bit of irritation.

"She's been in that bathroom for an awfully long time," the older woman mumbled. Charmayne let out a small gasp, looking around. She found a cabinet near the floor and quickly closed herself in. The cabinet shut a bit louder than she would've liked, and succeeded in catching the woman's attention.

"Wha...?" She stepped over, and opened the cabinet. Charmayne pressed her face in her knees, shaking as the woman let out a laugh. "What are you doing in there? Come on out love, I'm not gonna bite you," the woman gave a smile as Charmayne hesitantly came out of the cabinet.

The woman led her to the other room, and patted a seat down. Charmayne processed it first, just in case it was a trick, however it was just a simple wooden chair. Gingerly, she sat and the blond man spoke again, "Hello, I'm John Watson, that's Sherlock over there, and the lovely woman here is Ms. Hudson." Charmayne slowly nodded, keeping her eyes on her feet, as he mindless swing them back and forth. She memorized the code of her far-past worn out shoes. "Would you mind telling us your name, love?"

Her voice was barely a murmur as she spoke, "Charmayne..." John heard her, probably because he was the closest to her.

"Charmayne. That's a beautiful name." Charmayne didn't look up, but she began to swing her feet a little faster. "What's your last name, dear?" Charmayne shook her head, her long dreads curling her face, and John frowned, "Sorry? You don't... Know?" Charmayne bit the inside of her cheek, but didn't speak.

"Where did you come from?" Sherlock asked, and Charmayne pointed to the door behind Sherlock. He didn't have to turn to know where she was pointing and rolled his eyes.

"Charmayne," John spoke, turning to the girl. Charmayne looked at him as he spoke, "I understand you may be scared, but this is important. We need to know who you are and where you are from so we can make sure we hand you over to right people."

Charmayne paused, if she didn't reply, he might get angry, and she didn't want him to get angry. Angry people to bad things and it makes them hard to process. The other one, Sherlock, was already cross with her, she didn't want him go be. "Ch... Charmayne Bellet," John nodded, and gave a comforting smile to her, but Sherlock's eyes narrowed.

Charmayne sat a bit straighter and sniffled, "Can I... Can I go now?" She asked carefully.

"Why would you want to leave, dear?" Ms. Hudson asked. Charmayne nearly forgot she was sitting beside her, and tensed. There were too many people here, too much to code, too much to process.

Charmayne shook her head, relapsing back to nonverbal communication. Sherlock sighed, moving from the table, "This is getting boring. I'll be upstairs," he announced, taking long strides up the steps. John didn't bother to call after him, focusing his attention on Charmayne.

"Let's get you some new clothes to wear, alright?" He said, as a smile pinched the ends of his mouth.

Charmayne slowly nodded. "That sounds lovely, John. I'll make some more scones, and some tea, it'll be up soon."

"Thank you, Ms. Hudson," John thanked the woman for her gratuitousness. He motioned towards Charmayne, who slowly move to stand as well. "Come on then," he spoke, in a rather teasing tone, as he motioned for the stairs. Reluctantly, Charmayne followed.


	3. 00110010

**Chapter Two:**

Charmayne was slow to step out of the bathroom, almost reluctant to go to the siting room where she knew John and Sherlock were.

However, despite her better judgment, she opened the door and stepped out anyway. Charmayne knew that if she stayed where she was, they would think something was wrong and come looking for her. If they did that, then by the time they found her, they would be mad, very mad. People did bad things when they were mad, and it always ended with her hurting.

Charmayne stepped into the sitting room, scratching the side of the oversized-sweatshirt John let her borrow. The fabric was itchy and irritated her dark skin, but she didn't dare lift her tongue to complain.

She heard John and Sherlock were speaking by the time she got to the doorway, and paused, standing near the side, out of sight. "There's probably no where else for her to go, Sherlock," John spoke, trying to reason with the man.

"I don't want her..." Sherlock stopped in the middle of his sentence. Then, he cleared his throat, and exhaled, "I hope you realize, Charmayne, that eavesdropping is rude." Charmayne's throat choked on a gasp as she slowly stepped into the doorway. Sherlock didn't give her the chance to apologize and simply pointed to a couch near the two, "Sit," he ordered.

Charmayne wasted no time, keeping her gaze on the floor as she sat down on the couch, her legs short enough to dangle over the edge. It was soft enough to make her feel like she was sinking into the couch, forever to be lost between the dirty cushions.

"Charmayne," John spoke, his voice soft, as to not startle her, but she jumped anyway, her shoulders tensing. "We were asking if you knew where your home was? Do you know your parents' address?" Charmayne shook her head, staring back at her feet. "Do you have any idea where it was or what it looked like?" Again, she shook her head. "Where have you been living then?"

Charmayne was quiet for a second, "They... Bring me to homes," she spoke, her voice soft. "They hurt my head."

"Why do they hurt your head, Charmayne?"

"S'lot to code," she replied. "And, I'm stupid, so it hurts even more."

"You aren't stupid, don't say that!" John scolded her. Charmayne looked at him, afraid.

"... Sorry," she murmured.

"Don't be," John told her waving it off. "Do you know where the home was?" She nodded. "Can you tell me?" She shook her head. "Why's that?"

"I don't wanna go," She replied.

"Why?"

"It hurts my head."

"What do you mean? Do they hit you?" She shook her head, "Then, why does it hurt?"

"S'too much to code," she replied simply.

"What?" Sherlock said, finally contributing to the conversation. "It's too much to code?" She nodded, "How?"

"It's too much."

"What he means is," John spoke, " _Why_ is it so much? What are you _coding_?"

"Everything." Neither of them spoke for a solid minute. Both of them were staring at her, making Charmayne uncomfortable. She bit the inside or her cheek, and stared at her feet. The silence was broken by Sherlock, who's eyes were narrowed at her.

"You code _everything_?" She barely nodded. "Where?" Charmayne tapped her head on her finger, and shifted on the couch.

"What is that supposed to mean?" John mumbled as Sherlock leaned closer to the girl.

"Why are you stupid, Charmayne?" Sherlock asked, and John glared at him.

"Sherlock! You can't ask stuff like that, it's rude!"

"It's _important_ ," Sherlock replied, turning back to the girl who was still looking at her feet. "Charmayne?"

"... Mum 'nd dad say I–I don't understand stuff..." She murmured, "M'slow. Don't do work, so m'stupid."

"No, you're not stupid," Sherlock muttered, staring at her, "You're... Autistic, aren't you?" She shook her head, denying his claim.

"M'stupid," she murmured. "Even the House Lady thinks so..."

"Who's the House Lady, Charymayne?" John asked, but Charymayne was quiet, so Sherlock answered for her.

"She's her social worker," He replied. "What's her name, Charmayne?"

"House Lady... She doesn't like stupid people," Charmayne said slowly. It was true. If she found out that Charmayne had ran and went to someone like this strange man, she would kill her. Getting hit was not fun, and that woman hit hard! Charymayne rubbed her head when she hit her last time, it hurt.

"Who's hurting you, Charmayne?" Sherlock spoke calmly. "Is it the people in your home? The neighbors? The social worker? Kids in school?" Charmayne gave a little whine, curling up on the couch. She didn't like all these questions, they were making her head hurt.

John noticed her discomfort and came to her side, "Don't be like that," he told her softly, "It's okay. We won't ask anymore questions, _right_ Sherlock?" Sherlock gave a huff, turning back to his laptop.

Something on John buzzed and he pulled out his phone, "... Damn," he muttered, getting up.

"What is it?" Sherlock asked as John grabbed his coat.

"Emergency at work. I'll be back by..." He checked his watch, "Five, maybe. Don't do anything silly, Sherlock, and watch her."

"What about Ms. Hudson?"

"She's already gone to go catch her flight, she won't be back until next Monday," John gave a sigh, "Just make sure she gets something to eat, and keep an eye on her." Sherlock huffed again as John hurried out of the room.

Charmayne sat on the couch quietly, not daring to move. She began to amuse herself, making the wood floors different colours by changing its code. Then, she looked at Sherlock, who was typing into his laptop. She made his curly hair pink, then blue, then back to black. Charmayne nearly laughed at her antics, seeing him with pink hair was amusing.

"What are you sniggering at?" Sherlock asked the girl, and she went quiet, looking back at her feet. "It was a simple question, I would just like to like to know why you were laughing."

Charmayne didn't want to get in trouble. The House Lady never liked it when she played with code instead of working. She gave a small, "Sorry."

"I didn't ask you to be sorry," Sherlock rolled his eyes impatiently. "I simply asked why you were laughing."

"T... The code is fun," Charmayne murmured.

"What do you mean by code?" Sherlock asked curiously.

"The... Code," Charmayne frowned. "Nobody sees it, that's why mum says m'stupid..."

"Stop saying that, it's annoying," Sherlock rolled his eyes. "There are certainly more moronic people in this world than you."

"They aren't in m'code," Charmayne replied. "They're on the other side of the Binary."

"The _what_?" Sherlock repeated, now interested.

" _Binary_."

"As in, binary _code_?" Charmayne shook her head, "Then, you mean as in two parts?"

Charmayne looked back at her feet, "M'hungry," she murmured.

"There's food in the fridge," Sherlock replied, "Come here," he ordered. Charmayne obediently scurried over, squinting as she looked at the laptop screen. "What does that say?"

"I can't," Charmayne had to turn away from the computer so a throbbing headache didn't emerge. "It hurts."

"Why?" Sherlock demanded.

"It's too much—"

"To code?" Sherlock finished, pulling out his phone. "How about this?" Charmayne squinted at it, but gave a small nod.

"It's... A cellphone," Charmayne said.

" _Of course_ it's a cell phone—"

"Blackberry. Belongs to a Sherlock Holmes. Password: 284695. Credit card number: 1942 2958 8247 8361. Social Security—"

"Stop," Sherlock ordered, staring at her. She stopped talking. "How do you know any of that?" Was _she_ deducing _him_?

"S'in the code," she replied.

"What code?" Sherlock demanded. Charmayne shrugged, unable to answer. She didn't know how to describe it. It was all a jumble of numbers to her, but when she translated it, it read different things.

"You're not in m'Binary..." Charmayne mumbled. "Can I... Can I eat? M'hungry..."

Sherlock pressed his lips together, as if he were to be considering whether or not to let her eat. Finally, he rose from his seat, setting his laptop beside him. Charmayne took a step back, as he strode into the kitchen. "You can eat, John just bought groceries, but after you're going to explain what this 'Binary' is."

Charmayne nodded, suddenly eager to finally get something to eat. Her stomach growled at the prospect, somehow not satisfied with the scones she stole earlier.

Sherlock prepared her a sandwich and she took a seat at the cluttered table. There was so much stuff on it, that she was forced to look at the ground. Too much, it hurt her head.

A minute later, Sherlock set a plate in front of her. Charmayne sniffed, but shook her head, "What is it?" He demanded, his tone edged with irritation. The last thing he wanted to deal with was a kid who happened to be a fussy eater. Wasn't there a saying for that? ' _Beggars can't be choosers_ '?

"No, no, no," Charmayne said, moving away. It didn't take her long to code it, peanut butter and jelly.

"Why not? What's wrong with it? I know my cooking skills aren't superb, but surely you'll be able to eat a—"

"They make my—" she motioned to her throat, clawing at it. "I can't, I can't, it'll hurt, House Lady says no."

Sherlock rose an eyebrow, "You're allergic to peanuts?" Charmayne nodded, moving away, mumbling. Sherlock immediately took the plate away, tossing it in the rubbish bin. Then, he proceeded with putting away all the other utensils and supplies, and made her a new sandwich — just jelly. Charmayne found no faults with this after she took a moment to code it, and scarfed it down, barely letting herself breathe.

Charmayne finished in nearly thirty seconds, and looked back at Sherlock, who seemed unimpressed. "You're still hungry?" Charmayne nodded. Sherlock sighed, but began to make her another sandwich. This time, she was satisfied and looked back at the floor.

"Now, Charmayne, what is the Binary?" Sherlock asked, looked at her. She didn't move her head to speak to his face.

"Too hard."

"Too hard to what?"

"Explain. You're not in m'Binary."

"What's your Binary?"

"S'code."

"What do you mean by that?" Sherlock was beginning to get frustrated with this conversation.

"S... S'code," Charmayne tried to clarify, but it was hard.

"Can you describe it?"

"I... Uhm... S'hard, uhm... The–The code s'everywhere. I... I... S'hard to explain. I jus–just read it, an' there's too much, an' it hurts."

Sherlock nodded, they were getting somewhere. "Can you read _me_? What's _my_ code?"

Charmayne looked at him, "Your... Code?"

"Yes," he said, struggling at being patient with her. "Read it. Tell me what it says."

"I... Uhm... It says..." Charmayne hesitated, scared. Whenever she would read the code at Homes, they would hurt her. They didn't like it, and she didn't want him to hurt her. "I... I can't." She lied, looking away.

"Why won't you?" Sherlock asked, seeing through her lie immediately.

"I–I... House Lady doesn't— I... They don't..." Charmayne struggled, "You... They... They hurt, and I don't... I... They don't like... They hurt, and I hurt, and—"

"I won't hurt by it," Sherlock assured, somehow being able to translate her jumbled language. "And I won't hurt you. Tell me what the code says."

Charmayne looked at him, then around the room. She could run if he tried to hurt her. She doubted she could get far. Charmayne looked back at him, "The–The code says a man," she began. "A tall man with dark hair, and blue eyes. It says, uhm, smart, really smart. Money, has—had money. Drugs, cocaine and cigarettes, Daddy had that. Had dog — likes dogs. Likes... Boys. I..." Charmayne recoiled at the end, hesitant to finish.

"Keep going," Sherlock urged impatiently.

"Likes watching people... You... You have your own Binary, right?"

"I'm sorry?" Sherlock rose an eyebrow. "What do you mean? I have one?"

"No..." Charmayne ruffled her eyebrows. "You... Understand my... Binary..."

"I understand your Binary?" Sherlock repeated, confused.

"I do not... Understand..." Charmayne mumbled, "How...? Nobody understands... My Binary... Are you — Are you stupid too?"

Sherlock made a face, "What!?" He wasn't used to being called such a degrading term — he was, by no means, stupid. He couldn't even remember a time when someone called him that — in order to actually insult his intelligence. Yes, he's had gibes and jabs tossed at him, but ' _stupid_ '? Never.

"No! No no no no! No!" Charmayne recoiled at his confusion and distaste for her wording. "Sorry, sorry, I–I... Please don't hurt... Sorry. I—"

"I already told you, I'm not going to hurt you," Sherlock said, his eyes narrowed. A small part of him felt pity how that was her initial reaction to even the slightest hint of anger, but he casted it away and replaced it with annoyance. "Now, stop it. I need you to explain what you meant. I believe you were changing 'autistic' with 'stupid' which are two  very different things."

"I'm sorry," she murmured, keeping her tears at bay. Angry tears made angry people angrier, and angry people angrily hit her. Which hurt. She didn't want hurt. He said he'd help her — but that didn't mean he wouldn't hurt her. Charmayne glanced back at the exit. She _could_ still run.

"Stop apologizing, repetition is irritating." Charmayne shrank in the seat, looking at the table before her. Then, she remembered the cluttered mess that was the table, and turned back to the floor. "Explain. You think I'm autistic. Did you deduce that?" Charmayne shrugged, "My cellphone earlier, you got answers from that. You read that? From the code?" Charmayne gave a small nod.

"And, you weren't far from the truth, not as good as me or Mycroft, but still pretty good..." Sherlock muttered, scratching the side of his face. "You'd be better if you learned more... Do you know your... ' _House Lady's_ ' cell number?" Charmayne shook her head, "Damn. Alright, I'll have to figure it out myself, you can... Go take a nap on the sofa, or something."

Charmayne gave a short nod. She hopped off the chair and hurried to the sofa, where she sat again, leaving the duo in a perpetual silence — at least until John came back.


	4. 00110011

**Chapter Three:**

Soon, John had returned. Charmayne was still sitting on the sofa, quietly. John looked at her, and gave her a smile. She didn't notice. "What'd you two do while I was gone?" John asked casually, moving to the kitchen.

"Asked more questions," Sherlock said. "Charmayne, can you look at John's code?" Charmayne nodded and John gave him a strange look. "What does it say?"

"My code? What are you talking about?" John asked, confused. He turned to Charmayne, who was staring at him for a moment.

"The code says man, tall with blonde hair, and grey-blue eyes. Fighter, solider. Fighting doctor. The... The code says his... His head is sick, but he's getting better, uhm... Bad. His leg, it was bad. Smart. Likes... Girls and boys. Likes cats... Strong... Likes Sherlock Holmes..." Charmayne looked at Sherlock when she finished. "M'hungry..."

"Again?" Charmayne nodded, "John can make you another sandwich."

"How did she do that?" John asked, still shocked, "How... What's the code?"

"She deduced you," Sherlock explained. "Could you make her a jelly sandwich? No peanuts, she allergic."

John looked at Charmayne in shock, and Charmayne looked down, uncomfortable under his gaze. "M'sorry," she murmured.

"Don't be, love. You're perfectly fine," John assured. "She doesn't need a jelly sandwich, she needs a proper dinner. There's chicken downstairs, I can cook some of that." Sherlock barely nodded. John moved to the door to prepare dinner.

Sherlock and Charmayne sat in absolute silence, each minding their own. That is, until Charmayne spoke. "Ar... Are you going to call House Lady...?"

"I already have. They said they'll come in the morning." Charmayne felt tears prick her eyes.

"Can... You tell her to--to go away...?" Charmayne asked quietly. "Please..."

"Now, why would I do that?" Sherlock asked, almost amused. "Don't you want to go home?"

"No," Charmayne replied. "No, no, I don't."

"And why's that, Charmayne?" Charmayne was quiet, but she felt a tears falling down her cheek. "Oh, don't start that." Sherlock rolled his eyes, "We can find another foster care to put you in. Or, we can find your father."

"Can I... Can I stay with you...?" Charmayne asked, desperation edging her tone, "I--I won't be stupid. I won't... I won't code, I just... I don't wanna go back..."

"What did they do to you?" Sherlock asked, his eyes narrowed, "Why don't you want to go back?"

"I... They...---" Charmayne didn't finish. A door opened and she jumped, bringing her knees off the floor and unto the sofa, simultaneously moving away from the door.

"Okay, here's some chicken breasts," John grinned. "I'll cook some of this and we'll call it a night, okay?" Charmayne didn't reply, and John frowned turning to Sherlock. "What did you do to her?" He demanded.

"Nothing." Sherlock replied, rolling his eyes. John gave him a skeptical look, but turned back to the counter, beginning to clear some stuff away.

That night, Charmayne barely ate her food, which seemed to worry John. He encouraged her to eat, claiming it was good, but Charmayne didn't respond, but had made an attempt to eat a bit more.

Later, Sherlock permitted her to sleeping on their sofa, giving her a thick blanket to provide warmth before he himself headed off to sleep.

Charmayne didn't sleep at all the entire night. She never slept, usually. Back at the home or on the streets, Charmayne usually never slept. It kept her safe that way. If she slept, they'd hurt her, use her to their advantage. Charmayne kept that from happening by disallowing them the advantage of her falling asleep.

Charmayne simply sat up on their sofa until it was early in the morning. Someone was walking out of the hall, and she read the code as it being John. He turned to the coffee pot, getting ready to brew a pot of instant coffee.

Charmayne was always told that it was kind to greet whoever walked in the room. Charmayne stood, walked silently to John's side. "Good morning," she greeted softly.

John jumped, dropping his mug so it shattered into a thousand pieces on the floor. Charmayne felt a few embed themselves in her own dark skin.

"Holy---!" John exclaimed, backing away. Charmayne moved to her bare legs, pulling out the shards that were biggest and hurt the most. " _Charmayne_ ," he exhaled. "Next time, don't sneak up on me like that."

"I'm sorry," Charmayne recoiled. Moving to go sit back down on the sofa. "Sorry... I..."

"Oh, no, come here," John ordered, bending down to her level. Charmayne didn't move, too scared of what he might do to her. "I won't hurt you love, promise." He took a step, towards her, and Charmayne moved back sharply. Her bare foot cut on a rather huge shard of glass. She slipped, losing her balance, and falling on the ground.

Pieces of glass buried themselves in her palms, and she winced. John was quick to easily scoop her up and bring her to the couch. The use of his slippers granted him immunity to the glass littering the floor.

John settled Charmayne on the sofa, and as soon as she let go, she curled up, moving away from him. "May I see?" John asked softly, and Charmayne shook her head, no. "Please? I need to see how bad it is."

Charmayne felt something wet. It was on her hands and legs and feet. After a moment of staring, the code said it was blood. It didn't feel right. It felt thick, unlike water, and smelled weird. It began to stain the sofa. Charmayne wondered if they would be mad at her.

John gently took her hands, and Charmayne flinched, after inspecting the wounds for a moment, he stood. "Don't move, I'll be right back." Then, he began to walk away briskly.

Charmayne sat quietly on the sofa for several moments. She heard movement in the other rooms. Then, John came back, bearing a large case. It was red and white, and had a cross on the side.

He set it down, and opened it. Inside was... A lot of different things. So many, that Charmayne had a hard time coding it. John gently took her hand and a wet wipe, and began wiping away the sticky blood. Her wounds began to sting as he cleaned them, but she didn't move. He dabbed them with a strong scented water and then grabbed a small metal object. With much precision, he took out the small pieces of glass in her hands and discarded them in a bag. After he finished, he wiped her hands again, and put a colourful bandaid on them.

John moved to her legs, picking out the pieces of glass, and finally, her foot. By the time he was cleaning it and wrapping it up, Sherlock emerged from the hall. He looked at the kitchen floor and groaned, turning around. He came back with sandals on his feet.

"Sorry," John said with a half sigh.

"You're buying another one," Sherlock muttered, moving to sit in his chair. He looked at Charmayne, who was staring at a bit of dried blood on the sofa. "Why aren't you crying?" Sherlock asked inquisitively.

"What?" John furrowed his eyebrows. "Why should I be crying?"

"I meant her," Sherlock rolled his eyes, motioning to Charmayne. "Ususally, kids her age are bawling from injuries as miminal as a papercut."

John shrugged, "Charmayne, dear, are you alright?"

"... Do--Does everyone... Have this?" Charmayne asked slowly.

"Yes, it's called blood," John explained.

"Mommy had more," Charmayne said softly. "A lot more..."

John stared at her confused. He turned to Sherlock, to hear what he had to say for her strange statement. "Someone's at the door," Sherlock spoke calmly, leaning back in his chair. A moment later, a sharp knocking could be heard from downstairs.

"I'll get it," John grunted. "You sweep up the glass."

"Fine," Sherlock conceded, standing. As John left the room, Sherlock moved to grab the broom and dustpan. Charmayne watched him quietly as he swept up the smallest bits of glass and tossing them out. By the time he had finished and sat back down, John was ascending the steps.

Charmayne watched the door expectantly, and slowly, John entered. He gave Charmayne a soft smile before stepping out of the way. Behind him, was the House Lady. The code said that her brown hair curled around her face and that her matching eyes cold. Charmayne and the woman made eye contact for a split second. Then, Charmayne ran.

She screamed at the top of her lungs while the House Lady chased her. She nearly managed to get to a room --- whether it was a bathroom or a bedroom, Charmayne wasn't quite sure. That is, until the House Lady yanked her by the waist, lifting her in the air. She pulled a pair of silver handcuffs out of her back pocket, locking her arm to Charmayne's.

Charmayne struggled and pulled, but the woman was still. Tears began to well in her eyes as she slowly lost her strength. Charmayne began to sob, falling on the ground, curled up.

The House Lady began to walk, dragging Charmayne behind her. "Is that... Really necessary...?" John asked hesitantly.

"Yes. It is. Trust me," the woman spoke, a bit exasperated and annoyed, "Thank you for your patience. If you need me, here's my card." She fished into her pocket, pulling out a small rectangular card. John took it. Sherlock, however, was simply staring at her.

Charmayne looked at Sherlock, her eyes swollen from tears. "Plea---Please," she sobbed. "Please, please, ple---please, p---" The House Lady yanked on the handcuff, forcefully bringing Charmayne to her feet.

"Wait, I--I'm sure there's another way---There's no reason to result to violence, she's just a kid---"

"I'm sure I can handle this," House Lady interrupted him. "Thank you anyway. Call me if anything else happens." The House Lady practically dragged a kicking and screaming Charmayne out the door and down the steps. John heard the front door close before letting out a short sigh.

"That was the wrong thing to do," John murmured, moving back to his seat. Sherlock didn't respond for several moments.

"... Agreed."

**» - » - » - »**

Charmayne shook violently as the woman hit her again, "What the hell is wrong with you?!" She screamed, anger boiling in her eyes. Charmayne was silent, trying not to cry. Tears made angry people angrier. Tears made Charmayne hurt. She didn't like the tears, not at all. "Going off for weeks!? You could've made them think I killed you or something!"

"S--So--Sorry," Charmayne repeated, barely more than a murmur. "So--Sorry, I--I'm sorry, so--sorry, s--sor---"

"Go to your room," The foster mother hissed. Charmayne hurried, walking as quickly as she could. She curled up on her bed, silently sobbing into her familiar, worn pillow. She was aching all over and her wrist hurt whenever she moved it because of the House Lady's handcuffs and her yanking on it.

Charmayne was allowed silence for about ten minutes, until the door opened again. Charmayne stopped her sobs as a familair sound entered the room. Fingers thumping on flesh.

Tears grew in Charmayne's eyes again, and she tried to hide underneath the blankets. "C'mon, Charrie, I know you're not _that_ retarded to try to hide from me?" Giotto spoke calmly.

"Ple---Please---" Charmayne tried to beg, but was only reminded of the door being closed quickly behind him.

" _Ready_?" He chuckled, coming to her bed and slowly taking off her blankets forcefully. Charmayne screamed, but as soon as the first sound came out, Giotto's hands found her neck. Charmayne gagged, and tried to move his hands, but his hand were strong. Her barely third-year strength was obviously inferiour to his eighth-year one.

Charmayne's head felt light, and she began to stop struggling. Giotto chuckled, stripping the blankets off her, and soon, he clothes as well. Tears lined her cheeks as she cried. Giotto seemed to relish in them, grinning like a predator as he touched her and smothered his body on hers. Charmayne felt sick, and she wanted to vomit, but Giotto wouldn't allow it.

A hour later, he finished, shifting his weight off Charmayne and moving to stand. Charmayne couldn't even look at him as he turned to leave.

Charmayne felt like she had ran out of tears to shed. She sat, huddled on her bed, trembling. She was acutely aware of how cold it had been, and tried desperately to gain warmth in her blankets. Although she had only been there for a day, Charmayne desperately missed John and Sherlock. She wanted to see them again, to leave here and stay with them.

Charmayne _was_ going to, even if it killed her.


	5. 00110100

**Chapter Four:**

Sherlock and John hadn't seen Charmayne after that for several weeks. The only thing they could do for her was hope for the best, and that was it. Although, John had expressed interest in adopting her once or twice, Sherlock's logic easily squashed the idea. Their apartment was too messy, they didn't have enough rooms, if the CPS found out that he did drugs, then they would never allow her anywhere near 221B Baker Street again.

And, Charmayne wasn't. She stayed where she was, at least he believed she did, and didn't come back to them. Although a small part of him almost hoped that maybe she would --- he wanted to further test her supposed 'code' --- life got in the way. Mainly, cases he didn't have, which made him itching with boredom.

Sherlock waited around for the perfect case to fall into his arms, or for Lestrade to call him --- that's how the most interesting ones usually worked. But, none had came, leaving Sherlock restless.

For the second time that week, Sherlock reconnected with his west-sector Homeless network. Offering trades to those who hadn't heard, kicking off the temptation to join them in their rolling of smokes and puffing them out.

As Sherlock was leaving, in order so he wouldn't risk the chance of going home high, he noticed a small bundle not even looking at him.

The other men and women followed his gaze and scoffed. "It's just a kid," One of them commented. "Came in a week ago, I think. Don't talk to nobody, don't eat. Always rambling on about computers and shit."

Curiously, Sherlock went to the bundle, and pulled off the blanket. His eyes went wide with shock. It was  _Charmayne_. As soon as he had moved the blanket, she began screaming. "M'sorry! M'sorry! Please! Please!!" She cried, curling up, trembling.

"Charmayne, it's me," Sherlock spoke slowly. "It's Sherlock." Charmayne went quiet, but then she turned, confused. She was still shaking, and her eyes were bloodshot.

"Sh--Sherlock?" Charmayne stammered, moving slowly to sit up, and winced, holding her stomach.

"Yes," Sherlock insisted. "How did you get here? Where is your... The House Lady?" At the name, Charmayne jumped, then she groaned, holding her stomach. Sherlock looked down, "What's wrong?" He asked and his eyes widened. There was a long knife wound against her stomach that cut through her shirt. It was very infected, she needed to go to a hospital.

"We need to get you up," he told her. "Come on." He tried to bring the rest of the blankets off her, but she didn't move.

"N--No! No!!" Charmayne cried, trembling. "Pl--Pl--Please. No, sorry, sorry!" Sherlock sighed, getting his phone.

He dialed John's number, and put to his ear. He answered on the second ring. "Hey, Sherlock, is something wrong?" John asked immediately. He usually just texted him in order to tell him something. Sherlock never called John before.

"I found Charmayne," Sherlock grunted, trying to pick the girl up, but she continued to cry. "She had a knife wound. It's infected, where are you?"

"At work. You found Charmayne? Where? How --- How did she get a knife wound?"

"Come back to the apartment. I'll be there in twenty minutes." Then, Sherlock hung up.

**» - » - » - »**

True to his word, Sherlock brought an unconscious Charmayne back to the apartment. John had cleared off the kitchen table and Sherlock set her down there. Charmayne didn't move, and John eased her shirt off her. The dark black and blueish bruises across her skin made John hiss, pity rising in his chest. However, he moved on.

The cut was shallow, and only a flesh wound, bit it was still really infected. John gabbed the antiseptic fluid and dabbed it on a cotton ball. Gingerly, he dabbed it across her cut. Charmayne squirmed, but otherwise didn't move. Curiously, John asked, "What did you do to her?" as he worked.

"Pressure point. She'll be down for at least an hour," Sherlock explained. "Hopefully, we can get her some anesthesia before then."

John nodded and continued to work. Soon, it was all clean, and John could finally bandage it. After he finished cleaning her up, John carried her to his bed, letting her sleep. Then, he went to go clean up his mess and ask Sherlock how exactly he had found her.

**» - » - » - »**

Charmayne woke up very slowly. She was very warm... And soft. Sleepily confused, Charmayne looked around, through bleary eyes. The code said she was... In a bed. It was very soft, and white. It was a big bed and smelled very familiar.

Charmayne tried to move again, but her stomach burned in pain and she groaned, laying back down. Charmayne breathed sharply through her nose and teeth. That cut Giotto had given her still hurt as much as it did the first day she got it. It hurt to breathe, but for some reason, the pain was a bit more dull, not as bad as it was yesterday.

Where  _was_  she, Charmayne wondered. Everything that had happened up to this point was a haze. She... Remembered being really hungry, hungrier than she had ever felt, and tired too. Charmayne was on the ground in that dirty street with the rest of the people. Then, someone came to her, someone important, and... Blank.

Charmayne squirmed, trying to read the code in the room. It was small, and smelled so...  _Familiar_. There were a few pictures on the dresser, a closet, and the door was closed.

Charmayne's stomach groaned, and she whimpered. She needed to leave. What if the House Lady found her again? She seemed to find her, and she would always take her back to him.

The very thought of him made her sick. She needed to leave, before they brought her back to the House Lady.

Charmayne moved the covers off her body, shivering from the wave of cold air it brought. Slowly, she got up, gritting her teeth as her torso burned with blinding pain.

Charmayne slipped off the bed, the cold wood of the floor sent chills up her spine. Charmayne limped to the door, one hand clutching her torso as she opened it.

The hall was quiet. Charmayne looked for other exits, but those only led to a bedroom and a bathroom, judging by the partially opened doors. Charmayne continued, limping down the hall. It was quiet in the other room, but Charmayne could hear the distinct sound of typing.

Carefully, Charmayne peeked around the corner and a second later, a pair of crystal blue eyes darted up. Charmayne moved away, instantly moving away. She found a closet nearby and hid under its smallest shelf.

Her entire body trembled, she could almost hear Giotto's voice taunting her. "Come on out, Charrie. I just wanna play," Giotto would say, his tone playful but his thoughts disgusting. Charmayne shivered, remembering hiding under the beds, in the closet, and even in the toy cases to get away from the boy. But, he always found her.

"... You sure you heard something?" A man asked, confused. "I didn't hear anything."

"Just, check and see if she's up," another huffed. The first mumbled something, but Charmayne heard the door open. After a minute, the man's footsteps moved farther, bit Charmayne was nowhere to be seen.

"Did you see her?" The second asked from the other room.

"She's gone," the first gasped. "Where did she go?!" He began checking all the rooms now. Charmayne could feel him getting closer, his footsteps growing nearer. She needed to leave, she needed to run.

So, she did. Charmayne moved out of the small room under the shelf. As soon as she was free, Charmayne ran.

Charmayne was moving for about two good seconds, until large arms wrapped around her, raising her in the air.

Charmayne screamed, tears springing in her eyes and a second later, she was sobbing. She continued, even though the man had placed her on a sofa. She just wanted to be free, she just wanted to be free, she just---

"Charmayne, do you remember me? I'm Sherlock. You took scones from our landlady, and we let you stay here overnight." Suddenly, there were footsteps. Charmayne tensed, and she moved away from Sherlock. The other man entered the room and she began to cry harder, and panicking.

Charmayne moved as far away from the man as she could, a mess of words simply spilling out of her mouth. "No, I --- please, m'sorry, sorry, please."

"Move," the man demanded, gently coming over to Charmayne. "Hey, love, I'm John, don't worry, I'm not going to hurt you." His talking was smooth and reassuring. This stuttered Charmayne's panic. "I need you to breathe, alright? Just in, out. Can you do that for me, sweetheart?" Charmayne gave a shaky nod. "That's good, that's good. Whenever you're ready, we can start."

Charmayne nodded, and closed her eyes. "I--In," she said, hiccuping. "Ou--Out. In," she swallowed down a growing lump in her throat. Charmayne could almost see Giotto pinning her down, his ugly smile not moving from his lips. Charmayne choked back another sob. Would they take her back to House Lady? To the House people? To Giotto?

More tears came crashing down on her, and she shook her head, unable to breathe with him anymore. "What's wrong?" John asked carefully. "Don't be scared love, it's alright, it's alright. We're not going to hurt you, I promise."

"Do... Don't... Do--Don't take m--m--me ba--back, please," Charmayne begged. "Please, m'sorry, please, m'sorry, don't---"

"We won't, Charmayne, we promise we won't," John told her. "We promise."

Charmayne could only nod, breathing sharply through her nose. "M'sorry. M'sorry," she stuttered over and over again. "M--M'sorry."

**» - » - » - »**

Later, Charmayne still hadn't moved from the sofa, clutching its throw pillows like a lifesaver. Sherlock had tried to talk to her, and move her, but she was unresponsive. Even John couldn't get her to move, she felt safest on the sofa.

Sherlock kept looking at her, his eyes squinting as he stared. Charmayne didn't move, sniffing a few times. "John," Sherlock called to the man who was in the kitchen, preparing a jelly sandwich for Charmayne.

"Yes?"

"Could you please come here," John frowned, but set down the butterknife and moved to where his friend sat.

"I want you to ask her what I am about to tell you in... A sedimental way," Sherlock said, and John rose an eyebrow.

"That's what the cards are for, Sherlock," John frowned. A few months after John had moved in, and after realizing how... Rude Sherlock could be, he decided that using cards for certain situations would be what he used in order to 'comfort' whoever needed it.

"There's no card for this."

"What is it, then?"

Sherlock was quiet for a moment, then he spoke, "Ask her who raped her." John went still, looking at Sherlock in shock.

"Come again?"

"Ask her who---"

"I heard you the first time," John growled, "This better not be a joke, Sherlock, or---"

"Giotto," Charmayne mumbled. "The Home people let him. They let him."

"Oh... God," John whispered.

"What exactly did he do?" Sherlock asked seriously.

"Sherlock!" John scolded, but Sherlock wasn't listening.

"Tell me," Sherlock demanded. "I need to know everything."

"He... He kept touching me. He kept touching me, and I--I couldn't--- he wouldn't---"

"Charmayne, love, you don't have to talk about this, you don't have to tell him," John spoke, almost pleading.

"I couldn't---he would hurt me, and I..." Charmayne shivered, and John came to her instantly.

"Charmayne, we can talk about this later, you need to rest right now," John told her, sitting at his side.

"M'sorry, m'sorry," Charmayne said, moving away from him. "Please---"

"Charmayne, when did you leave?" Sherlock kept asking.

"He... He cut me, he said he wanted to play," Charmayne murmured, barely audible.

"He did this?" John asked, incredulously, and Charmayne nodded. John ran a hand down his face, turning back to Sherlock. "We should call her... Social Worker," John said, saying the last few words more softly, so Charmayne wouldn't have another fit.

Sherlock scoffed, "Have you already forgotten what happened last time we brought that woman over?"

"We don't have to give Charmayne to her. We need to know who's doing...  _This_  to her. Who's allowing someone to do that to her, a  _child_ , mind you. This is sick, Sherlock."

"We're not bringing her back there," Sherlock spoke seriously. Charmayne looked up, Sherlock had finished preparing her sandwich, but hadn't given it to her yet.

"We need to do  _something_!" John snapped. "Sooner or later, someone will realize that she's missing --- if they haven't already --- and the first person they're going to question is  _us_." Charmayne walked over tentatively, going unnoticed by the two arguing adults.

"Then we'll figure it out," Sherlock rolled his eyes. "And we can do it without the help of that woman."

"And once we get her out of the custody of her foster parents, where will she go?" John asked. "You've already stated very clearly --- several times --- that we are unfit to house a child. Who will take her? Unless you're planning on sending her back to where she came?"

"Not going to happen," Sherlock narrowed his eyes. "I'll find a way, there has got to be some suitable family that will adopt her." Charmayne reached to the table, trying to grab her sandwich, but her fingers just missing.

John laughed humourlessly. "Why are you so against her staying here?"

"I am not," Sherlock replied cooly. "I simply believe it would be better for her to be raised by suitable adults. There are  _countless_  reasons why she cannot stay here. It's too dangerous." Sherlock absentmindedly moved the plate closer as she struggled to get to it. Charmayne gave the smallest smile and grabbed her long overdue sandwich, downing it in three bites. She turned to Sherlock for more and he turned to make it.

"There  _are_  other ways to give her away," John spoke softly, watching Charmayne watch Sherlock make the sandwich for her in anticipation. "But keeping her here is the best for her. We can workout the details, but I'm sure there's a way to keep her."

"We're not keeping her." Sherlock finished and Charmayne ate it quickly, then motioned for another. Sherlock gave her a look ot annoyance, but continued to work, anyway.

"You say that like she's some pet that can be given away, Sherlock!" John snarled, making Charmayne freeze.

"I never said that," Sherlock replied, agitated. "I simply said that we cannot keep Charmayne here. It's not in her best interests."

"Stop that," John glared, "Talking like a bloody robot, stop it!"

"I'm not," Sherlock glared, annoyed. "You know I an right, John---" Charmayne began to shake, tears filling her eyes.

"M'sorry," she murmured. "M---"

"You're not right, Sherlock, not this time. This is a child --- a person --- we're talking about, Sherlock. This time, she stays here. We'll figure it out once Ms. Hudson arrives back this Friday."

"She cannot stay here. Sooner or later her social worker will come and take her away," Sherlock rollled his eyes.

"The House Lady," Charmayne asked, her eyes wide. "She is here?! She---"

"No, love, she's not here," John dismissed. "Don't worry."

"Please, m---"

"Go sit down, Charmayne," Sherlock ordered, waving a hand, annoyed. Charmayne flinched, when he moved, expecting to be hit. Sherlock stared at her, shocked for a moment. The room was left silent, but slowly, she shuffled back to the sofa.

Charmayne tucked her knees to her chest, her lip quivering as she tried to keep her tears back. She didn't want to make Sherlock angry, she didn't. If she cried, Sherlock would hit her, like the House People. Angry tears made angry people angrier. Who, angrily hit her with their angry hands, yelled at her with their angry mouths. Angry people would get angry at Charmayne, and then they would give her to Giotto, who angrily touched her. If they knew she left, they'd angrily kill her.

"She  _flinched_ ," John muttered. "She thought you were going to  _hit_  her."

"A common trait in children coming out of abusive homes," Sherlock agreed.

"She thought you were going to hit her, Sherlock!" John snapped. Charmayne covered her head, looking into the darkness of her knees. Angry people made it hard to code and focus. Sherlock said nothing, and when John realised this, he groaned angrily.

John came to the sofa and knelt in front of it. "Charmayne, love, I know we might seem scary right now, but I promise you that nothing is going to hurt you here, okay? I promise. We would never hit you, and we won't let anything else happen to you, alright?"

"Mmmm..." Charmayne murmured, neither agreeing nor denying.

"Charmayne?" John said, shifting.

"Don't touch her," Sherlock advised from where he sat.

"Charmayne," John continued, ignoring Sherlock. "Are you okay?" His hand barely came above her knee before Charmayne started screaming. She didn't want to be hit! She didn't want Giotto to touch her again! Her screams came out high pitched and cracked. She tried to crawl away, but stopped herself. She knew that if she tried to run, he would hit her harder.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" John repeated, moving away, hands raised.

After a few minutes of screaming, Charmayne slowed to a stop, breathing heavily. She stared at John, who looked just as scared as she felt. "No touching. Got it," he said.

"I tried to warn you," Sherlock spoke, annoyed.

"Shut it," John glared. John tried to approach Charmayne again, but she didn't respond. She wouldn't answer his questions, or move from the couch. That night, John placed a blanket over her --- giving up on moving her to a bed, allowing her to sleep on the couch.

Charmayne did not sleep.


	6. 00110101

**Chapter Five:**

"We need to figure out what to do with her," John said quietly, glancing at Charmayne who was staring at the floorboards. There were dark bags under her eyes and she was hugging her knees tight. Her eyes were droopy, but whenever they closed, Charmayne would jump, and they would be wide open again.

"We already have, haven't we?" Sherlock replied, typing quickly, not looking at his flatmate. "She stays here, isn't that what you wanted?"

"It is, but," John frowned, "I got call from her... Worker, earlier." Sherlock rose an eyebrow. Worker was short for Social Worker because whenever Charmayne heard the word 'Social Worker', she would have a fit and it took forever to calm her down. "She said that she recieved word that she has gone missing. Her parents didn't even tell the woman until a month later!"

"Does she suspect that we have her?"

"I don't know, I haven't followed up with her yet. It's just..." He sighed, rubbing his face. "The last time she came here, Sherlock,Â  she looked so scared. I don't want to put her through that again. I don't think _I_ can go through that again. But, what are we going to do?"

"We keep her here," Sherlock replied simply. "Although it doesn't seem like a great option, she seems very content on not leaving that couch."

"I want to _help_ her," John sighed. "Not leave her on a couch. I mean, doesn't she have to go to school? She can't do that here!"

"Why not?" Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I'm here nearly all the time, and if I'm not, Ms. Hudson is. If we homeschooled her, she would be perfectly fine."

"Sherlock, we are not fit to homeschool a child with autism," he sighed. "She'll need a lot more care than we can provide. Besides, she's suffered from trauma, she should see a psychiatrist."

"I have all the skills necessary for being a tutor _and_ a psychiatrist," Sherlock said, frowning, as if daring John to say another thing.

"You don't have the patience," John rolled his eyes. "Besides, she should be around other kids like her. It's important for her development."

"Have you been reading those 'Newly-Made Mother' magazines?" Sherlock asked, squinting and John's entire face and neck warmed from embarrassment.

"What I mean, is that I don't want her ending up alone and sad and depressed her whole life, Sherlock. She needs a future, something to look forward to."

Sherlock sighed, "I'll look into it, alright?" John gave a small nod, approvingly, and stood.

John turned to Charmayne, who finally fell asleep. Her head was nodding backwards, and her eyes rolled back, her mouth open. Her entire body was leaning forward, tittering over the edge of the couch.

John was by her side in two strides, laying her down gently. Her eyes fluttered open for a moment, but then shut again. John got a blanket and placed it over her. Charmayne snuggled in it, sighing in content.

John glanced at his watch, "I need to go. I told Ms. Hudson I would pick her up in an hour." Sherlock nodded, "Watch her. I don't think she has slept since she came here. No loud noises. Let her sleep."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "I know, John," He said, annoyed, but he kept his voice low. John nodded, then quietly closed the door and left.

**Â» -** **Â» - Â» - Â»**

Sherlock was fine for the first ten minutes. Everything was quiet, except for the sound of traffic outside. And, although it was a bit uncomfortable, he shrugged it off and kept working.

Another five minutes past and he heard a small moan. Sherlock turned to see Charmayne curled up tight, her face scrunched up and she was sweating. Sherlock gave her a strange look. She was probably having a nightmare, but she needed her sleep. So, reluctantly, he turned back to his work.

Fifteen minutes past. It was completely peaceful until Charmayne screamed, sitting up. Sherlock jumped, and turned to her. She was sobbing and shaking, blubbering words he couldn't understand. The scent of urine filled the air and he crinkled his nose.

"Charmayne?" He said, but Charmayne didn't reply. After listening to her words for a second, he realized she was speaking French. She did say her last name was Bellet, which is a French name. He hasn't realized that might have been her native language.

" _Charmayne, calmez-vous. C'Ã©tait juste un cauchemar, vous allez bien_ (Charmayne, calm down. It was just a nightmare, you're alright)."

"N--No--No m--more, Giotto, pl--please," she sobbed.

"I'm not Giotto, I'm Sherlock," Sherlock reminded her, then said the same phrase in French, just in case. "You had a nightmare, you are okay, Charmayne."

Charmayne didn't stop shaking, she hiccupped, and sniffed. "Pl--Please, I---"Â 

"Charmayne," Sherlock's voice was harsh and Charmayne flinched. "Look at me." Charmayne didn't move, "Charmayne, look at me." Slowly, Charmayne looked at him, her brown eyes were wide and the look of terror was indescribable. "What does the code say? Who am I?"

Charmayne stared at him, "I---"

"What does the code say, Charmayne?"

"... It..." Charmayne began to tear up again, "It says... A tall man... wi--with da--dark hair, and---" Charmayne choked back a sob, "Pl--Please, Giotto, I---"

"Keep telling me, what does it say, Charmayne?" Sherlock pushed her, "Tell me."

"He--He has da--dark hair, an--and bl--blue eyes. He--He is s--sm--smart," Charmayne sniffed. "H--He likes bo--b--boys, he l--likes d--death..." Sherlock rose an eyebrow at her last statement. He didn't _like_ death, he enjoyed solving murders, which he supposed was similar to a child.Â 

"Now, tell me, what does Giotto's binary says?" Sherlock asked calmly, and Charmayne swallowed.

"He i--is bigger th--than me. He has... He has dark hair a--and do--do--dots on h--his face. He h--has light skin and... His... His un--uncle liked t--to touched him..." Sherlock's eyes widened, he suspected it, but he didn't think it was true.

"Are you alright now, Charmayne?" Sherlock asked, and Charmayne sniffed, nodding.

"Good. Now, go wash up in the bathroom,"

Charmayne nodded slowly, and got up. Sherlock glanced at his sofa, and sighed, rubbing temples. At least he got what he needed, _information_.

**Â» -** **Â» - Â» - Â»**

Sherlock had the sofa cleanedand was drying it by the time John came back. Charmayne was sitting on the floor, looking at her toes. When the door opened, Charmayne jumped, scurrying out of the way. "Hey, Charmayne," John said, trying to please her. Charmayne didn't speak, but she gave a small nod, and then looked back to the floor.

John, who was holding a small brown bag behind him, went to Charmayne and bent down. "Hey, love, I brought you a present," John said softly. Charmayne looked up, and John gave her the bag. "Here. Open it."

Charmayne opened the bag carefully, confused. She pulled it out and stared at it, trying to read it's code. It was a small stuffed brown bear. It had a bowtie under its chin.

A small smile spread on Charmayne's lips. "Th--Thank you..." She sniffed, holding it close to her chest.

"You're welcome," John smiled. His hand came down on her head and she flinched, squeezing her bear, but instead of hitting her, John patted her head.

Charmayne sat, confused. She didn't exactly know why he did that. She silently read John's code as he got up and left. Smiling, proud of himself. Happy, talking to Sherlock. Still smiling. Affectionate. Caring. Honest. Loving. He cared for Charmayne. He liked her.

Charmayne blinked. She didn't _understand_. Nobody ever _cared_ for her before. What did she do? What was she supposed to do? Charmayne squeezed the bear, and for some reason, she felt calm. She liked being able to squeeze her bear. It calmed her. Charmayne did it again, as then giggled a little. She had toys at the Home, but none of the kids let her play whenever they did. And when she would get a toy herself, they took it away from her and began hitting her.

The door opened again, and again, Charmayne tensed. However, it was just Ms. Hudson. She was smiling and full of cheer. "Hello boys, I was just about to make some brownies and do you want any?"

"Yes, please, Ms. Hudson," John said, practically drooling on the spot. Ms. Hudson desserts were to kill for --- which was ironic considering his line of business.

"Good, Charmayne?" Ms. Hudson turned to her, and she looked up, "So you want to help, dear?"

"I... I--I, uhm," she looked to Sherlock and John, who nodded. "Y--Yes?" She stood up slowly, holding the bear close to her chest.

"Good, come along," Ms. Hudson held out her hand, and Charmayne hesitantly shook it.

"Uhm," Charmayne spoke as the woman led her to the kitchen.

"Yes, dear?"

"What is a brownie?"

**Â» -** **Â» - Â» - Â»**

Charmayne was in love. After nearly an hour of preparing the brownie mix and cooking them, and cooling them all, Charmayne got to try one.

Her eyes widened aa she tasted it. She stared at the small pastry in her hands, the warm chocolate was sticking to her fingers and after she finished she licked them. "Do you like it?" Ms. Hudson asked, and  
Charmayne nodded.

"Can I... Can I have another?" Charmayne asked hesitantly, not wanting to be scolded.

Ms. Hudson laughed, "Yes, but only one more. We'll save the rest for dinner. Come on, let's go take some upstairs to Sherlock and John." Charmayne nodded, washing her sticky hands in the sink --- that she could barely reach --- as Ms. Hudson packed them in a container.

Ms. Hudson allowed Charmayne to carry the brownie, which she did very carefully, and placed her bear on top. She gingerly took each step one at a time, and Ms. Hudson chuckled at her chariness.

When she finally made it to the top of the steps, Ms. Hudson opened the door. Charmayne looked up, smiling at her work, but froze at who she saw.

The House Lady was standing in front of her, her dark eyes glaring at her. Charmayne was fast. She dropped the brownies, grabbed her bear and bolted down the steps. She heard the House Lady behind her, but Charmayne was faster. She turned into the kitchen and hid in one of the cabinets.

"Ma'am, please, leave," Charmayne heard John say, angrily just as the front door opened.

"That child---"

"Is none of your concern," a new, deeper voice finished. "I'm sure you have other children to tend to, miss. You are no longer in care of Charmayne Bellet. She is under my care. You can leave."

"And who are you?" The woman snarled, "This child needs to go back. This is the eighth time she ran away from her foster parents!"

"If you value your job, Miss O'Neal, you will leave this residence now." The House Lady was quiet, but soon there was tapping on the floor, and then the front door slammed shut.

Charmayne sat in the musty cabinet, trembling, and crying quietly. The door opened and Charmayne flinched, but strong arms pulled her out. John held her close as Charmayne sobbed. "It's okay, love. It's over now. You don't have to go back there anymore. It's okay," John whispered to her soothingly. Charmayne didn't say anything, but she cried harder, gripping John tightly.

Sherlock turned to Mycroft, who was straightening his jacket. "Did you really need me to come all the way out here to do that?" Mycroft asked his brother, annoyed.

"No. I brought you all the way out her so that you can put her under our custody," Sherlock said simply, and Mycroft rolled his eyes. "Also, I need you to go to this address," he said, pulling out a slip of paper, and handing it to his brother. "Her foster parents. There's a child, Giotto. Juvenile detention for sexual assault. The parents, several accounts of child abuse."

Mycroft raised an eyebrow, "I hope you know I'll be getting quiet a bit of favours out of this."

"You will if you get it done," Sherlock said, annoyed. He turned to John, who was coming their way, Charmayne still in his arms. "How is she?"

"In shock. She'll be okay. She just needs a nap," John said, chuckling.

"That's all for me then, brother," Mycroft said, turning to leave. Charmayne squirmed out of John's arms and ran to the man. Mycroft looked down at her, confused. She was still crying, and her eyes were puffy and red. She was clutching a brown stuffed bear to her chest, which she was slowly squeezing and unsqueezing.

"Thank you," she told him simply, then went back to John, who picked her up again.

Mycroft was silent a moment, then continued to leave, closing the door behind him.

A minute later, Sherlock's phone buzzed in his pocket. When he pulled it out to read it, he smirked.

**Free of charge.**

**\- MH**


	7. 00110110

**Chapter Six:**

_"Charrie," Giotto cooed in Charmayne's ear. She flinched, trying to crawl away, but her arms and legs were tangled in the bedsheets. She couldn't move. "Mm... You're so sweet, you know that, Charrie?" She could feel him licking her, on her stomach, her neck, her legs. Charmayne felt sick, and tears began to run down her face._

_"Pl--Please," Charmayne gasped, trying to squirm away._

_"You know what you taste like?" Giotto hummed softly. "Dark chocolate. Like the bitter kind, but you're still so sweet. And soft," he chuckled, "Like a play toy. That's what you are, Charrie, a play toy. My play toy." He began to trace circles on hee skin, but it felt as if he were trying to cut her open with his nails. "My Charrie... My toy... Where did you go, Charrie? I miss playing with you. I miss tasting you..."_

_"P--P--P--P--Pl--Please," Charmayne gasped. "S--St--Stop, please, st--st--st--stop, pl--please,Â  st--stop, ple--please---"_

_"My play toy!" Giotto snapped, "And you left me!" He hit her across the face, his nails driving into his skin. Charmayne gasped, and began sobbing. Giotto grabbed her cheeks, squeezing them together. "Come back to me, Charrie," he whispered. "I miss you..."_

_"Pl--Please," Charmayne begged. "Sto--Sto--Stop, pl--please, s---"_

_"I said come back!" Giotto screamed. "Now! Come back now! You're mine and I want you back now!!"_

**Â» - Â» - Â» - Â»**

Charmayne sat up, trembling. She was so cold and tired. She tried to get out of the bed she was in, but the blankets entangled her limbs. Charmayne began to panic, trying frantically to get out, remembering Giotto above her, holding her down, tying her down, making sure she wouldn't --- and couldn't move.

Charmayne tugged and pulled, the bed springs creaking loudly as she moved, trying to get up --- trying to get out.

The door opened and Charmayne's panic increased tenfold. She began to sob as someone came over and began to talk. "Charmayne, love, what's wrong?" He asked softly. _He_. _Him_. _Man_. Tall man, blondish hair. Tanned --- army. Kind, nice. Gentle. She knew him. John. This was John.

"I can't---" Charmayne stammered. "Gi--Gi--Giotto, I ca--can't---" she tried to yank her leg out again, but since her entire body was shaking, it only made it worse.

John walked over to her line of sight and slowly unwrapped the blanket from around her leg. As soon as she was free, she curled up and began to cry, her eyes closed tight and head tucked into her knees.

Charmayne felt the bed shift and John slowly moved her so she was crying in his lap. John stroked her dreadlocks, shushing her as she sobbed.

**Â» - Â» - Â» - Â»**

Charmayne could not have been any less prepared for what she was about to do as she was now. Sherlock had found out that she was in her third year,Â so both he and John insisted she should go to school. After a few day's of debating back and forth, she was there, in her uniform, sitting in the headmaster's office. John sat beside her, filling out a few final papers, before sliding them back over to the headmaster.

The hesdmaster was, surprisingly, a woman. She had long, dark hair that was tied behind her, and her face was wrinkled but stern. Her eyes were cold and her room was very neat. Charmayne was scared whether or not to sit, but she did.

"I'll have her enrolled in out Special Needs class," the Headmistress explained. "But if our teachers feel like she can hold herself in normal classes, she can always be transferred. If you want, of course."

"Thst sounds great," He smiled and turned to Charmayne. "It's time for me to go now."

"I don't wanna stay here," Charmayne murmured, looking down.

"I know, love, but we can't keep you at home. Come on, I'll walk you to your class." He held out his hand and Charmayne took it. The Headmistress led the way as they went to her first class. The school was an absolute maze and Charmayne had trouble coding the halls and rooms on her way there. She knew she would definitely get lost if John left her.

The Headmistress opened the door to the other students in the room. They turned when to see Charmayne, and inhaled, wanting to hide behind John.

There were six other students in her class, Charmayne coded. Two were girls, four were boys. None of them we're dark-skinned like her, and they all thought it was peculiar.

"Hello Charmayne," A blonde woman with a low ponytail smiled, kneeling to her level. "I'm Mrs. Penelope, it's nice to meet you." She didn't give her hand out for Charmayne to shake. Charmayne wouldn't have taken it anyway, but at the same time, she wanted the option to do so.

"Right now, we're doing math. Long division," Mrs. Penelope said, standing up to face her superiour.

"' _Long division'?"_ The Headmistress frowned and it seemed like all of her wrinkles sagged with it. Charmayne nearly laughed. "Isn't that too hard for kids like this?"

"Actually, no, they're all fairing nicely. I believe---"

"Nevermind that," she waved her hand, "Charmayne will be joining your class. She has her schedule so please find her a seat."

"Yes, of course, Ma'am," Mrs. Penelope said, a sigh passing her lips, but she smiled down at Charmayne, and motioned towards an empty desk near one of the male students. "This way."

"Don't worry," John said, patting her shoulder gently. "I'll be back to pick you up after, alright?" She gave a hestitant nod and followed Mrs. Penelope's directions to her seat.

Charmayne sat in her seat quietly, looking at her hands. Mrs. Penelope stayed at the door with John and the Headmistress for a few more minutes and talked. "Hey," A voice whispered beside her. Charmayne turned to see the make student.

The code said that he was a stout, chubby boy with pink cheeks and freckles all over his face. He gave her a wide grin, but Charmayne didn't return it, and instead looked reluctant. "I'm Joey, what's your name?"

'Joey' was short for Joseph, Charmayne thought. His parents were poor, which explained his very stained uniform. His hair was red and curly, but Charmayne didn't like it at all. It made he think that his entire head was on fire, which was slightly disturbing when her mind wandered to it.

His father worked in a small hardware store, and sometimes Joey helped, which had also been recently, because there was a car-grease stain over the side of his ear.

Charmayne turned away, she did not want to be friends with him. However, he was persistent and tapped her arm. Charmayne nearly jumped, clenching her teeth. "I heard them call you Carmen? Is that your name?"

Charmayne still didn't reply. She glanced at the door, where John and the Headmistress were turning to leave. Charmayne bit the inside of her cheek, and looked back down. He was abandoning her here, and didn't want to be here. She never wanted to come back to a place like this again...

"Okay everyone, back on schedule," Mrs. Penelope announced. "As you may have noticed, Charmayne will be joining our class from know on, so please, be nice, just like our rules, right?"

The rest of the students nodded, and Mrs. Penelope continued. "Great, as we left off, we were talking about division. Anyone remember our example of how to do that,?"

A hand was raised and one of the female students said. "The cake."

"Right, good job, Garcia," She smiled. Then, turned to the board with a dry-erase marker and drew a big circle on it. "This diagram should be in your books too," she paused for a moment. "Joey, could you share with Charmayne until I get her a book?" Charmayne wanted to scream at her, no, but Joey was more than eager to move his desk over and sit closer to her.

Charmayne was silent as the boy flipped through the book, finding the page they were on. She held her breath as the boy touched her arm. She imagined Giotto clenching it. Pushing her down on the bed, twisting her wrists until she cried out. Her crying, her _tears_.

Charmayne bit the inside of her lip. She couldn't scream. If she said anything, Giotto would be upset, and she didn't want Giotto upset, no she didn't. He'd be angry, which made him angrily hit her and she would have to angrily try not to cry. If she did, the House People would angrily come into the room, and then they would angrily yell at her. Charmayne couldn't make him angry. She _never_ made him angry.

Charmayne nodded and sat quietly for the rest of the day, ignoring the feeling of wanting to burst into tears. Inside, she wanted John and Sherlock to take her back home.

**Â» - Â» - Â» - Â»**

"So how was school, love?" John asked when he finally came to pick her up. Charmayne didn't say anything, she only nodded.

John frowned, "Charmayne? Are you alright?"

"I am... I am okay," she murmured. "Can we go home?"

"Yeah. Of course," John moved to take her hand, but Charmayne stepped ahead of him and began to walk. John stared at her for a moment, but didn't say anything.

Charmayne was silent the entire trip back, despite John's attempts to make small talk with her. He asked her about her teacher and her classmates. Charmayne provided minimal to no answers, so John dropped the topic all together.

Finally, they got back to the flat, and Charmayne hurried out and up the steps. "Wha---!? Wait, Charmayne!" John said, going after her.

Charmayne entered the flat, where Sherlock sat at his laptop. "Hello, Charmayne. How was---?" Charmayne was already down the hall and turned into Sherlock's room. Then, the door slammed shut.

"Charmayne!" John said, coming through the open door. Sherlock looked at him, an eyebrow raised.

"What happened?" Sherlock asked.

"I... I don't know. She was just in a bad mood since we came out of the school," John sighed, sitting down. He had her backpack in one hand, she nearly left it in the taxi.

"Just wait until she comes out," Sherlock shrugged, then he went to his laptop.

"I'm going to check on her," He murmured, setting her bag on the chair, and then got up. He made his way to Sherlock's room, then he gently rapped his knuckles against the door. "Charmayne? You alright in there, love?" He couldn't hear much, despite the thinness of the walls. "Charmayne? I'm coming in, alright?"

He opened the door slowly and entered the room. The room was completely empty, and there was no sign of her. Then, he turned to the closet, where the door was a bit opened.

He slowly came to the closet and opened the door. He could hear Charmayne's sharp breathing though the door, and as soon as he bent towards her, more tears slipped down her cheeks. "Charmayne, are you okay? Did they do something to you at school?" She shook her head, biting her nails to nubs and sniffed. "Then what's wrong?"

Charmayne shook her head again, pressing her forehead to her knees. Her entire body trembling. He could feel her slowly starting to have an attack, so he began to gently run her shoes, using enough pressure for her to feel it. "I won't know unless you tell me, Charmayne. Please."

"I..." She murmured, her throat choked tight with her tears. "I do--don't wanna go--go--go back. Pl--Please, d--don't make m'go back."

"Charmayne," John spoke gently. "I--I have to. You need to go to---" Charmayne let out a high wail, and John tried not to move to cover his ears. She began sobbing badly, gasping in-between each breath.

John gently brought her over and let her rest on his lap, stroking her hair. Charmayne didn't stop crying for an hour. It seemed like she had endless tears to shed. John just nodded, whispering, "It's alright. It's alright."

Finally, Charmayne cried herself to sleep. John picked her up, then moved her to Sherlock's bed. He gently put the covers over her, and let her sleep.

**Â» - Â» - Â» - Â»**

Charmayne began hating school immediately. It was completely set apart from her classmates who loved every second of the class. Charmayne got quieter, even more than she already had been at it was. As soon as she came back from school, she would go to Sherlock's closet and cry. John and Sherlock were both concerned, John had even gone far enough to consult her teacher and Headmistress. Neither knew anything about her distress.

John finally approached Charmayne one afternoon. She was sitting in Sherlock's bed, doing her homework. Charmayne stared at John for a few seconds as he came in, but then turned back to her work.

"Hey, Kiona," John spoke gently, sitting on the edge of Sherlock's bed. "What are you working on?"

"... M... Science," Charmayne said quietly and he nodded.

"Science? I love that. What is it?"

"Just... Just plants..." She spoke softly.

"Hmm... Do you need help?" Charmayne shook her head. "What about with everything else?"

"M'fine. You want to ask about school," John blinked. "The code said so. School is fine. M'fine. D--Don't worry."

"Charmayne, you come home crying everyday," John frowned. "Is someone bothering you?" Charmayne shook her head. "Then why are you crying?"

"S'all in m'head," She muttered. "You... You can't fix m'head. There's nothing you can do. _Rien ne peut le faire. Je vais mourir lÃ -bas (_ Nothing anyone can do. I'm going to die there)."

"Charmayne? What did you just say?" John asked, confused.

"Nothin'..." She murmured, "I have... To finish m'homework. Goodbye."

John stared at her for several minutes. "Charmayne---"

"Goodbye, John." John sighed, but got up and left. When the door closed, Charmayne sniffed, tear drops staining her homework.

**Â» - Â» - Â» - Â»**

"

If being there is making you unhappy, you shouldn't have to go," Sherlock told Charmayne's. It was a month after she started school. Charmayne looked up at him, his words catching her attention. "We can get a home tutor. You wouldn't have to go back. I can tell you don't like the group environment. It makes you nervous, which makes you think of Giotto, doesn't it?"

"M'fine," Charmayne said immediately. "Don't worry. M'fine. I'll live. M'---"

"You'll worry yourself to death, if you keep telling yourself that," Sherlock told her, standing and grabbing his violin. "We'll get you a home tutor. You can stay here and work in the parlour. You wouldn't have to go back there anymore."

"... I..." Charmayne was speechless. Sherlock stood straighter.

"I had the same issues," he admitted to hed. " _Ce n'est pas seulement dans_ votre _tÃªte_ (It isn't just in _your_ head)."

Charmayne say silently curiously wiping away tears as Sherlock began to play. Sherlock glanced at her, as a slow, melodic tune coming from his instrument. He turned away, a small smirk playing at his lips.


	8. 0110111

**Chapter Seven:**

"Now, after you multiply the five by the two then---"

"Thirty," Charmayne said, not even looking at the paper.

"Pardon?" Her tutor said. The code told her that he was white and balding in his hair. He wore a suitjacket and slacks. He had round small glasses on his face and a strange, straight mustache. Charmayne didn't like the mustache. It looked like an animal was growing on his face. He smelled strange too, like smoke and Charmayne did not like it at all.

"The answer. I--If you multiply fifteen by two, you get thirty." He blinked, mildly impressed.

"Very good. Do you know why?"

"Because fifteen times two is thirty," Charmaybe said and he laughed.

"Yes, but how do you get thirty?"

"By multiplying fifteen and two," Charmayne looked away, glancing at kitchen she was hungry and she knew Ms. Hudson made scones earlier.

"Charmayne, focus," her tutor snapped and Charmayne turned back quickly. "Now, look. Since five times two is ten, you put the zero on the bottom and carry over the one. Like this," he moved his pencil on her paper. Charmayne blinked at it.

"Thirty-six."

"Excuse me?"

"The answer to six times six. Thirty-six."

"Charmayne, we haven't quite gotten to that problem yet," he reminded her. "Anyways---"

"Forty-two. Twenty-eight. Fifty-four. Sixty. Thirty-five. Seventy-two. Twenty---"

" _Charmayne_!" He snapped, eyes narrowed. Charmayne stopped talking immediately. He was angry. If he was angry, he'd angrily hit her. Or, angrily stab her with his angry pen. Then Sherlock and John would angrily come downstairs and angrily punish her too. They'd bring her angrily back to Giotto, who would angrily greet her, and---

"... Are you listening to me?" He demanded, crossing his arms and leaning back in his seat. Charmayne didn't say anything. .

"No. The code says you are angry," Charmayne told him.

"I'm not angry, I'm merely frusterated. I cannot teach you if you do not listen, Charmayne. Now, when I break down a problem, you cannot make any remarks on it."

"I know how to finish the problem," Charmayne frowned. "Why do you teach if I already understand?"

He stared at her, his face twisted and his eyes narrowed. "If you seem to already understand so much," he said, his voice stiff. "Then, answer this question." He flipped the paper over and began to write. Five hundred eight-two times sixty-five.

"Thirty seven thousand, eight hundred, thirty," Charmayne answered. He stared at her, shocked. He began to write again, this time, not showing it to her.

After writing the questions he gave the paper to Charmayne and the pen. Charmayne began to write. Two minutes later, she handed the paper back to him.

The tutor looked at Charmayne, then pulled out a calculator and began to check them. With every question, his face went whiter and whiter. Finally, he got up, taking the paper, and quickly went up the steps, leaving Charmayne alone.

Charmayne stared at the spot where he sat. Then, she got up and went to the kitchen. She wanted a scone.

**Â» - Â» - Â» - Â»**

Charmayne sat on the floor in the kitchen, eating her scone silently. She heard footsteps and froze. A second later, she moved and his under the kitchen table. The table cloth was still shifting from her sudden movement, catching the intruder's attention.

They bent down and lifted the cloth, a frown was settled on Sherlock's face when he saw her. "You're spilling crumbs everywhere," he scolded her. He put out his hand and Charmayne took it, climbing out from underneath the table.

"What did we say about hiding?" He said, crossing his arms. Charmayne looked down, her shoulders hunched and she didn't meet his eyes.

"M'sorry," she murmured. Sherlock didn't say anything. He turned and grabbed a broom, them began cleaning up her crumbs. Charmayne helped, grabbing the dustpan and sitting on the ground as he swept her mess up.

Charmayne didn't really understand cleaning. When things were clustered together, it made it harder for her code to read, but if they straightened it out, then she had to re-read the code again. Therefore, cleaning whenever she made something messy ruined the memory she remembered of her code.

"Your tutor says that you are doing well in Maths, but not in English," Sherlock told her.

"S'hard to understand. The words don't mean anything to me..." Charmayne explained, trailing off. This, however, perked Sherlock's interests.

"Explain," he told her.

Charmayne frowned. "Shiny-Headman---"

"Mr. Goldman, your tutor," Sherlock corrected. He set the broom aside and Charmayne dumped out the crumbs.

"He says ' _Explain what the poem means_ '."

"What poem?"

"The poem was 'bout cocoa. I dunno what that is, but Shiny-Headman says s'a drink. He says s'a easy poem, but I don't understand."

"How does it go?" Charmayne frowned.

"It goes like this," she hummed a pattern, that almost confused Sherlock. She made a deep sound, a normal sound, a high sound, then finally a normal sound and kept repeating that process.

"It... Has a rhyme scheme?" He asked, trying to understand. Charmayne didn't clarify it, but she stopped humming. "So, ABCB?"

"What?" Charmayne was confused.

"Do you have the poem?" She nodded, it was in her book. She went over to grab it, then brought it to Sherlock. She flipped to the right page, and then pointed it out to Sherlock.

She pointed to the end of each line, making the same rythmic pattern with her voice. Sherlock nodded, so he was right. "Shiny-Headman said I was wrong, but I didn't understand."

"Did you ask him to explain it?" Charmayne didn't reply to that. She closed her book and drew it back to herself, which was more than enough of an answer for Sherlock. "You can't learn if you don't ask him to explain what you don't understand," he told her. Charmayne nodded silently.

Sherlock frowned at her, then he sat back and crossed his arms. "You may come with me and John on my next case," he told her and Charmayne sat straight, eyes wide. "However," she deflated, knowing there'd be a _but_. "By the end of today day, you'll have to tell John the meaning of this poem."

Charmayne frowned, glancing down at it, then looking back up. "What's cocoa?"

"Find out," he smirked, then headed to go upstairs. Charmayne followed him, staying close behind.

**Â» - Â» - Â» - Â»**

Charmayne came out of Sherlock's room --- something she rarely did, unless she was hungry or needed to use the loo. She walked up to John's chair, where he was sitting, huffing over mail.

Charmayne sat beside him and stared at the ground. John glanced over, knowing she wanted something. She never came up and asked them for anything, or came and tapped them on the shoulder if she had a question. She just sat beside them and waited for them to acknowledge her. It was a bit strange when he noticed it and brought is worries to Sherlock, but Sherlock dismissed it, telling him it wasn't something to make a big fuss over.

John smiled and set down the mail, "Yes, Charmayne?"

"... Wh--What's cocoa?" John furrowed his eyebrows.

"Why do you asked?"

"Because I don't know," she replied. Charmayne was never sarcastic, despite how people took it. She was generally to the point and never made any jokes. At the same time, she didn't _understand_ jokes either, at least not any that John told her. She, in a lot of ways, was like Sherlock.

"Well, it's a drink," he explained. Charmayne watched him, her big dark eyes seemed to bore into him, the same way Sherlock's would do whenever he watched him. "It's really sweet. And..." He frowned, "How about when I go to the store tomorrow, I'll get you some, alright?"

Charmayne nodded, "Okay..."

"Is there anything else?" Charmayne shook her head. "Are you hungry?" Sherlock and John both made it a habit to ask her this too. Sometimes, Charmayne wouldn't ask them for food when she was hungry. She'd either simply take it, if she thought they weren't looking, or if they were, wait until they weren't. This ended in Sherlock finding Charmayne in the fridge late one night eating the scones Ms. Hudson had made for him a day before. They explained to her that she had to ask, but she still didn't quite understand. So they just made it a habit to ask her if she were hungry, which she replied honestly to.

Charmayne shook her head and turned to leave again. John frowned, the question was seriously out of place and wondered where it came from.

**Â» - Â» - Â» - Â»**

"Sherlock?" John called from the kitchen. He was preparing pasta for dinner. Sherlock looked up from his laptop.

"... Yes?"

"Why did Charmayne ask me what cocoa was?"

"For class," Sherlock replied. "She's analyzing a poem."

"What does cocoa have to do with it?"

"The poem was about cocoa," he explained.

John nodded and was quiet for a few moments. "She didn't know what that was?"

"Hmm?" Sherlock looked up, he wasn't paying attention. "Yes, she claimed that she didn't know what cocoa was."

"I'll buy some tomorrow then," John concluded, nodding. "That way, she'll know." Sherlock didn't respond and turned back to his laptop.

Charmayne came down the hall and went to Sherlock. She took his phone from the small table it rested on and began to search something up.

John looked over from the kitchen and smiled. She usually didn't come out of Sherlock's room. It was a mystery to him what she did in there. "What are you doing, Charmayne?" He asked, stirring the pasta sauce. It was nearly done.

Charmayne didn't answer quickly. "... Looking..." She finally said.

"For what?" She didn't reply. But, it seemed that she finally came to a conclusion that she was satisfied with. Charmayne set Sherlock's phone down and walked over to John, waiting.

"Yes, love?" He said, glancing down at her and turning off the eye. The food was finished.

"'Cocoa, or hot chocolate, is a sweet beverage commonly drank around the holiday season. It is accompanied with other treats such as marshmellows or sugar candy canes. Although it is most commonly featured as a drinking option around December, it is not unusual to see resturants offer it around the year as an alternate option to other drinks'." John stared at her, shocked. Charmayne finished talking --- which had been the most talking John had ever heard her say --- and went to Sherlock.

Sherlock waited a minute before acknowledging her. "Good job," was all he said. Charmayne went to go sit on her usual sofa, but John saw a hint of a smile on her face.

"Food's done," he called.

"Leave it on the stove, I'll eat later," Sherlock replied. John nodded, and got a plate ready for Charmayne. He set it down at a corner of the table that had been cleaned off just for her to eat. "Charmayne," John called. Charmayne stood and went over, beginning to shovel noodles into her mouth. "Slow down," he chided her. She practically inhaled food whenever she ate. John was always concerned she would choke and where would that lead them?

John prepared a plate for himself and Sherlock and moved to sit in his usual arm chair. "What was that?" He asked as he set Sherlock's plate down beside him.

"I asked you to leave it on the stove," Sherlock grumbled.

"Oh dear," John said sarcastically, "I guess that means you'll have to eat, hmm?" John smirked and began to eat his own pasta. Sherlock's eyes narrowed, but he reluctantly closed his laptop and began to eat as well. "You didn't answer my question."

"I already told you. She was doing it for a assignment."

"You said it was for her to understand the poem," Sherlock made a noise of aggrement. Or, of annoyance, John didn't care. "Well, she didn't really explain the poem's meaning, if it was about cocoa."

"Does it really matter?" John shrugged, he was right. It was just a poem.

"All I'm saying is that if she was supposed to analyze the poem, she should do it properly, shouldn't she?"

"Then, tell her," Sherlock mumbled through a full mouth of spaghetti.

John huffed, but didn't press it, and finished his food.

**Â» - Â» - Â» - Â»**

That night, before John sent Charmayne to bed, he sat her down to talk to her. "Charmayne, have you really never had hot cocoa before?" She shook her head. "Did you ever celebrate Christmas at your... Homes?" She shook her head again. "Did you celebrate anything there?"

Charmayne shook her head. "She never wanted to. She says m'messy and, M'stupid... If there was a party, I would ruin it. I don't like the parties. S'hard to code."

"I understand," he sighed, but then smiled at her. "How about for your birthday, we'll have a party?"

"Why?"

"So you can have fun," he grinned. "And, it's your birthday."

"When is m'birthday?" John blinked, surprised a little by this.

"We... We'll find out. And then, we'll celebrate, okay?"

"Okay," she turned and John helped her take the cushions off the couch and pull out the futon bed. It was temporarily where she slept before they got everything sort in 221A where the spare room was. It was currently holding boxes and probably spiders and they were still going through to clean it out.

John brought her blankets and she climbed in the bed. She didn't like it when he tucked her in, for some reason or another. "Goodnight, Charmayne."

"Goodnight." He smiled and turned to go to his room.

Charmayne laid there, watching while John disappeared down the hall. She didn't sleep.


	9. 00111000

**Chapter Eight:**

Charmayne stayed behind John as he fiddled with the machine. Since she had finished all her school work, he let her come to the supermarket with him. He even let her take her stuffed bear, which she held tight her arms, squeezing and unsqueezing him.

Charmayne reminded him of all the things he said he needed, which wasn't much.

She leaned over the side, watching silently as John grumbled at the machine. " _Card not authorised. Please use an alternative method of payment_ ," the machine kept saying.

"Yes, all right! I've got it!" He snapped. Charmayne looked around them, they seemed to be holding up the line. The code told Charmayne that the man right beside seemed excessively grumpy, picking up his basket and clenching his fist.

" _Card not authorised. Please use an alternative method of payment_ ," the machine said again.

John patted his back pocket, looking for his wallet, but finding nothing. He huffed, muttering something into his hand. Charmayne glanced at the machine, then at the keypad beside it. In a quick flurry of small fingers, she made the cashbox fly out of the bottom, sending euros everywhere.

" _Charmayne_!" John hissed, shocked. Before anyone could stop either of them, he took Charmayne's hand and walked away quickly.

**» - » - » - »**

John and Charmayne made their say into the flat. Sherlock was sitting in his armchair, reading a book. "You took your time," Sherlock commented.

Charmayne kicked her shoes off and sat on the sofa, crossing her legs. She set the bear in her lap, while she watched the two men. "Yeah, I didn't get the shopping," John replied testily, still a bit upset over the endeavour.

Sherlock glanced up from his book, " _What_? Why not?"

"Because I had a row, in the shop, with a _chip-and-PIN_ machine," he replied.

"You... You had a _row_ with a _machine_?" Sherlock repeated, lowering his book a little.

Charmayne stared at John, "The code says you're embarrassed," She told him. "Can I have snack bar?"

"I am _not_ \---!" John said, then sighed, going to the cabinet and grabbing a fruit bar out and handing it to Charmayne.

She took it and peeled it open. Charmayne mushed it up in her hand and then ate it. "It sat there and I shouted abuse," John explained. "Have you got cash?"

"Take my card," Sherlock said, motioning towards the kitchen as he went back to his book.

John walked towards the kitchen, where the card was, but stopped for a minute. "You could always go yourself, you know," John told his flatmate. "You've been sitting there all morning. You've not even moved since I left." John picked up the wallet, rummaging through. "And what happened about that case you were offered --- the _Jaria Diamond_?"

"Not interested," Sherlock said. Charmayne noticed something shiny peeking out at his feet. Sherlock saw, and quickly his it away before she had the chance to read it's c ode. "I sent them a message."

John noticed a mark on the table that wasn't there before he left. "Ugh, _Holmes_..." He muttered, trying to rub it away, but it didn't go away. He turned to Sherlock, pointing at the table, but he shrugged innocently. John sighed again and made his way to the door, but stopped in front of Charmayne. "I'm going back to the store, so you want to come?" He asked the girl, who shook her head. Then, she got up and disappeared down the hall and into Sherlock's room.

John shook his head, "What does she even _do_ in there?" He muttered before closing the door behind him.

**» - » - » - »**

Charmayne sat near the side of the bedroom, flipping through a book. She heard heavy footsteps coming down the hall. Quickly, she hid the book and stood, going to the door just as it opened.

Charmayne stepped back as John gave her a funny look. "Hey, we're about to go out, maybe for a case, do you want to come?"   
Charmayne nodded and followed. John helped her with her shoes and her coat and then they were out the door.

**» - » - » - »**

Charmayne held John's hand as he stared up at what was a tall... _Building_. It was bright and very reflective. Charmayne winced and looked back at the ground. Sunlight made things harder to code. "Yes, when you said we were going to the bank..." John muttered under his breath, but Sherlock was already gone past the revolving doors.

Sherlock led them to a escalator, which Charmayne found a little amusing. If they hard more time, Charmayne would've been able to code it better.

Sherlock told a woman at a desk his name, and she told him to sit down. He began to talk to her about the flower in her hair for a few minutes. Then, she got up and led them to a rather fancy looking, dark wooden door. 

Charmayne stayed behind John as they entered the room. It was rather grand and very open. There were wide windows showing the city below and a dark wood desk with several papers on it and a leather chair.

A man was standing and clicked off the phone in his hand. He looked at Sherlock and something like excitement filled his eyes. But, it wasn't the kind Charmayne usually saw with John and Sherlock. It was the kind of excitement Giotto showed when he finally pinned her down on the bed and she had stopped squirming.

Charmayne felt sick and hid further behind John's legs. John, didn't seem to notice and was watching the man and Sherlock interact.

"Sherlock Holmes," the man greeted.

"Sebastian," Sherlock replied. He did not sound quite happy. Sebastian came up to Sherlock, holding both his hands in Sherlock's and shook them.

"Howdy, buddy. How long's it been?" Sebastian asked, and then began to talk as if they were old friends. Judging by Sherlock's severe lack of emotion, they weren't. "Eight _years_ since I last clapped eyes on you?"

Sherlock turned and waved towards John nd Charmanyne. "This is my _friend_ , John. And that's Charmayne."

"' _Friend_ '?" Sebastian repeated as if he didn't believe such a word could pass Sherlock's lips. Charmayne frowned, what did Sherlock mean by friend? What did friends do? She's never had a friend before. Was she his friend?

" _Colleague_ ," John said and suddenly Sebastian nodded, as if the word made him understand better.

" _Right_ ," he said, raising an eyebrow at Sherlock, who just glanced down at his watch. Then, he turned to Charmayne.

She saw his dark eyes immediately and quickly tried to hide again. The code said he was tall, intimidating, had money --- a _lot_ of money --- and liked Sherlock. But, not in the way _John_ liked Sherlock. He liked Sherlock in a different, more _sinister_ way.

"And you must be Charmayne," he smiled, squatting next to her. Charmayne seized up, her heart pounding. He was too close. Close people got angry quickly and angry close people got closer and tried to angrily hit her closely. "Would you like a lolli? I might have something for you in my desk somewhere."

Charmayne didn't reply, she just turned away, trying to keep her heart from pounding. He was like _Giotto_. Charmayne wanted to hide, but she remembered when Sherlock and John would scold her for doing so. They most certainly would now, if she tried to hide.

Tall Giotto took her lack of a proper response negatively and frowned, "What are you? _Mute_? I said, _hello_." Charmayne began to panic, she didn't want to be in here. He was angry and angry people do angry things. He would angry but her with his angry fists then angry kick her and angrily---

John's hand touched her arm and Charmayne tensed. She squeezed his jeans and he rubbed her arm slowly. "She's shy," John said, covering for her.

"She _looks_ old enough to speak," Tall Giotto's eyes narrowed, blatant annoyance displayed on his face.

" _She_ isn't why I'm here, Sebastian," Sherlock said, and he turned back to Sherlock, getting back on track.

"Yes, _right_." Tall Giotto nodded, folding his long, pale fingers. "Do you need anything? Coffee, water? A colouring sheet for the _mute_ one?"

"No," John said, grinding his teeth a little.

" _No_?" Tall Giotto repeated and then nodded to the pretty lady who was still waiting by the door "We're all sorted here, thanks." She turned and quickly exited the office, closing the door with a soft click behind her.

Tall Giotto waved his hand at the chairs in front of him, and Sherlock and John took a seat. Charmayne moved to the wall near the door and sat down on the floor there. She crossed her legs and pulled out the bear and watched the several paintings and achievements pinned on the walls. She squeezed the bear, the familiar soft, fluffy fur bringing her comfort.

Tall Giotto stared at Charmayne for a few seconds with a peculiar gaze, "She looks a little _slow_ ," he commented.

John was shocked, but before he could go off on the man, Sherlock supplied, "She's autistic."

" _Ah_!" Tall Giotto exclaimed with a clap of his hands, "I knew something was wrong with her!"

"Nothing's _wrong_ with her," John defended.

"Well, yes, of course," He rolled his dark eyes. "Nothing's ' _wrong_ ' with her, but she's not, you know, _normal_. And, she's autistic, so she's bound to be slower."

John ears went a bit pink, and he opened his mouth, ready to shout, but Sherlock cut him off again. "So, you're doing well," Sherlock said, switching the topic. "You've been abroad a lot."

"Well, some," Tall Giotto admitted, straightening his cuffs.

"Flying all the way round the world _twice_ in a _month_?" Sherlock continued and suddenly, Tall Giotto barked out a laugh. It echoed loudly in the room and Charmayne jumped.

Tall Giotto leaned back and crossed his arms. " _Right_. You're doing that thing," He looked at John, who just looked confused, but excited for another display of Sherlock's gift. "We were at uni together. _This guy_ here had a trick he used to do."

Sherlock shifted and Charmayne read discomfort in his code. Was Sherlock upset? "It's not a trick."

"He could look at you and tell you your whole life story," Tall Giotto continued, well amused and oblivious to Sherlock's discomfort at his rude words.

"Yes, I've seen him do it," John replied. Charmayne saw him steal a glance at Sherlock.

"Put the wind up _everybody_ ," Tell Giotto chuckled, smiling. "We _hated_ him." Sherlock looked away, and Charmayne's eyes went wide. Sherlock was not happy at all. Tall Giotto was _hurting_ him, but he wasn't touching him. How was Tall Giotto hurting him without touching him? "You'd come down to breakfast in the Formal Hall and _this freak_ would know you'd been _shagging_ the previous night."

Charmayne was upset, if Tall Giotto was angry with Sherlock, he'd hit him. She wanted to help, but hours of pain and terror kept her rooted to the ground. She curled up, watching the floor and squeezing her bear tighter, gently rocking in place.

"I simply _observed_ ," Sherlock tried to say, but Tall Giotto wasn't stopping now. He treated Sherlock like a _playtoy_. Like how _Giotto_ treated her like a playtoy.

"Go on, enlighten me," Tall Giotto grinned, leaning on his hands. "Two trips a month, flying all the way around the world --- you're quite right. How could you tell?" Sherlock opened his mouth to speak, but Tall Giotto cut him off. "You're gonna tell me there was, uhm, a stain on my tie from some special kind of ketchup you can only buy in Manhattan."

Sherlock tried to interject, but Tall Giotto just talked over him, "Maybe it was the mud on my shoes!" Sherlock tried to speak again, and Tall Giotto finally let him.

"I was just chatting with your secretary outside," He explained. " _She_  told me." The room hushed for a second and Charmayne looked down at her bear, squeezing it at tight as she could. Both Sherlock and Tall Giotto was smiling at each other, but they were not happy smiles. Sherlock was not happy and Tall Giotto was unsatisfied.

Finally, Tall Giotto clapped his hands together and looked a lot more serious. "I'm glad you could make it over," He informed them, rather clumsily changing the subject. The air of animosity still hung in the air. "We've had a break-in." Then, he stood, and Sherlock and John followed suit. "This, is... Sensitive material, so the kid can't see," he explained.

John seemed a bit happy at Tall Giotto's words because he quickly turned and stepped over to Charmayne. He held out his hand to her to help her stand, but she stood by herself. "We'll be back," John promised and then led her out the room.

"Is... Is Tall Giotto going to hurt Sherlock?" Charmayne whispered to John as they left.

It took John a second to understand, but then he shook his head. "He won't hurt him," John promised. "But, sometimes, it's easier to hurt people with your lips instead of your fists." Charmayne was quiet and sat down on the small chair in front of he woman.

John explained the situation to the nice and pretty woman sitting at the desk. Then, he waved to Charmayne and went back into the office.

Charmayne stayed silent, staring at the bear in her hands. She wondered if Sherlock was going to come back. John said Tall Giotto wouldn't hurt him. Charmayne had to believe him, she supposed. "Do you want something to do, sweetheart?" Charmayne froze, not saying anything. "Dear? Would you like something to do? Sitting her waiting for you fathers will be awfully boring."

Charmayne shook her head, sinking into the chair. Maybe if she were smaller, the woman would stop talking to her. Charmayne wanted to go back to Sherlock. She didn't want to be left here.

The woman stared at Charmayne for a few more seconds before turning back to whatever she was doing. Charmayne could feel her glancing at her from the corner of her eye a couple of times and her stomach did a flip. She squeezed her bear as hard as she could and closed her eyes. She wanted to go home. 

 


	10. 0011001

**Chapter Nine:**

When Sherlock and John finally escaped the office, Charmayne jumped to her feet, her bear dangling from her hands.

John smiled at her, "Ready to go?" He asked and Charmayne nodded, following they neared the escalator. John looked at Sherlock, "Two trips around the world this month. You didn’t ask his secretary; you said that just to irritate him. How did you know?"

"Did you see his watch?" Sherlock asked,

John rose an eyebrow, "His watch?"

"The time was right but the date was wrong," Sherlock explained. "Said two days ago. Crossed the dateline twice but he didn’t alter it."

"Within a month?" John continued questioning. "How’d you get that part?"

"New Breitling," Sherlock said. "Only came out this February."

John nodded and looked around the building. "Okay. So d’you think we should sniff around here for a bit longer?"

"Got everything I need to know already, thanks," Sherlock said confidently and John looked at him with surprise.

"Hmm?"

"That graffiti was a message for someone at the bank working on the trading floors. We find the intended recipient and..." He trailed off, giving John the chance to finish.

"... They’ll lead us to the person who sent it," John finished and Sherlock gave him an approving nod.

"Obvious."

"Well, there’s three _hundred_ people up there," John said, reaching down to grab Charmayne's hand as large crowd of people came their way. Charmayne put the paw of her bear in his hand, holding the other paw for herself. "Who was it meant for?"

"Pillars," Sherlock said.

"What?" John frowned.

"Pillars and the screens," He continued. "Very few places you can see that graffiti from. That narrows the field considerably. And of course the message was left at eleven thirty-four last night. That tells us a lot."

Sherlock entered the spinning, eating doors, getting lost behind them. John went to follow him, but Charmayne tugged away, getting nervous. John noticed and opted for the side doors instead.

Sherlock waited on the other side and they continued their conversation. "Does it tell us a lot?" John asked.

"Traders come to work at all hours," Sherlock explained. "Some trade with Hong Kong in the middle of the night. That message was intended for someone who came in at midnight."

Then, Sherlock held up a strange paper card that had a bunch of words on it, and Sherlock gave a rare smile. "Not many Van Coons in the phonebook." Satisfied with his explanation, he faced the busy London street and hailed a taxi.

**» - » - » - »**

As they sat the taxi, John looked at Charmayne, "Are you ready to to home?" He asked her. She was place between the two, her legs somehow able to be drawn up so she didn't have to touch the taxi's floor. It wasn't dirty, Charmayne just didn't like the floor of a moving vehicle. It made her stomach flip.

"No," she said softly, staring at her knees.

John went silent for a few moments, then he said, "I'm sorry for what Sebastian said about you. He's a rude git, and it didn't mean anything."

"S'okay," Charmayne replied simply. "I know m'stupid. The House Lady says so."

"You aren't stupid," John said firmly. "You're a brilliant girl. He was just too much of an arrogant, loud-mouthed prick to realize." Charmayne nodded again, but she didn't look altogether convinced.

John couldn't say much more after that. The car slowed to a stop and Sherlock paid him, and slipped out of the side. John and Charmayne followed suit. John took Charmayne's bear's hand, and kept her close to him.

Sherlock made his way to the block of flats, then pressed the buzzer, then looked up at a few cameras near the archway. Charmayne frowned, but didn't say anything. He pressed it again, but door still didn't open. "So what do we do now?" John asked, with a hurt. "Sit here and wait for him to come back?"

He came back to the door and ran a finger down the names. Some of them were weathered by the years, but a few looked newer, no less than a few weeks old, if that. Then, he stepped away to look at the exterior layout of the building.

Then, Sherlock grinned. Charmayne didn't like when he grinned. The code said usually grinned when he was about to do something _bad_.

He came back to John and Charmayne, who were standing by the buzzers. "Just moved in."

"What?" John frowned.

"The floor above. New label." Then, Sherlock pointed to the buzzer labeled ' _Wintle_ ', his grin growing.

"Could have just replaced it," John noted.

"No one ever does that," Sherlock said, and pressed the buzzer. Sherlock looked at the camera and grinned up at it. Charmayne watched, shocked as his entire code shifted. Before, it read him as smart and morbid. Now, it was like he made that smaller, as if surpressing it, and showing this new Sherlock now. He was funny, quirky, and kind. This wasn't her Sherlock. Charmayne did not like this at all.

" _Hello_?" A female voice replied from the buzzer, who had to have been Wintle.

"Hi! Um, I live in the flat just below you. I--I don’t think we’ve met..." Sherlock said, trailing off. Charmayne cringed, wanting to pull away and run.

" _No, well, uh, I’ve just moved in_ ," The woman explained.

"Actually, I’ve just locked my keys in my flat," Sherlock made a weird grimance and bit his lip, his teeth turning it pinkish on his pasty pale skin.

" _D'you want me to buzz you in_?" The woman asked, completely convinced by his lies.

"Yeah, and can I use your balcony?" Sherlock asked.

This gave the woman pause, " _What_?"

"My door is locked," Sherlock lied. "But I don't usually balcony the back door, the only way in is the key. Well, that or my spare, which I gave to my ex."

" _Your ex? Are you single_?" The woman asked and he chuckled.

"Currently," he admitted, looking sbeepish.

" _This'll be an interesting story over a few drinks someday_ ," the woman told him as she buzzed Sherlock, John, and Charmayne in.

John moved to hold the door open, before it automatically locked again. "You'll be the first I tell," Sherlock promised and stepped inside.

As soon as they were in the building, his code went back to normal. Charmayne was intruiged, wondering how he did that.

"You just seduced a woman so you could perform acrobatics," John scolded as they made their way up a flew flights of stairs and Sherlock scoffed.

"Seducing and simple flirting are on two entirely different planes," Sherlock told him. John rolled his eyes, trying not to show his impressive-ness.

Sherlock continued to wiggle his way into the woman's house while John took Charmayne to the floor below and waited for Sherlock to open the door. Charmayne heard a small thud, which could only be Sherlock getting into the flat.

John must've heard it too because he began to call out, "Sherlock?" He said. "Sherlock, are you okay?" He received no answer.

Charmayne looked at the door, then at the floor where a small discarded bobby pin laid. She bent down and picked it up. She looked at the door knob for a second.

"Yeah, any time you feel like letting me in," John huffed indignantly. Charmayne fiddled with the lock for a minute, before it clicked open. She pushed the door, but was stopped by chain-lock. John noticed and was ready to yank it off completely, but Sherlock appeared in the gap.

"Don't touch that," He warned, and John stopped. "Van Coon is dead. This is a crime scene."

**» - » - » - »**

Charmayne stayed near the side, watching as people entered and exited the room where the dead man laid. Curiosity peaked her interests, but she didn't want to get go close to all the tall, new people. She hasn't read their code, she doesn't know what they would do.

It best to assume everyone's angry, so that when you're cautious, you don't have to be near the angry.

Charmayne listened to Sherlock and John talk beside her. Sherlock was putting on plastic gloves. "D’you think he’d lost a  _lot_  of money," John asked Sherlock. "I mean, suicide is pretty common among city boys."

"We don’t know that it  _was_  suicide," Sherlock said, but John didn't look convinced.

"Come on," he drawled, arms crossed. "The door was locked from the inside; you had to _climb_ down the _balcony_."

Sherlock moved near a suitcase and John and Charmayne followed. She didn't want to be left alone. People would try to talk to her. "Been away three days, judging by the laundry," Sherlock commented, messing with the man's undergarments.

Sherlock looked at the suitcase for a minute before straightening up and turning back to John, "Look at the case," Sherlock said. "There was something tightly packed inside it." Charmayne looked at the bloated suitcase and nodded, there were a lot of clothes in it.

John wasn't as pleased as Sherlock to go through the man's laundry. "Thanks --- I’ll take your word for it."

"The code says you're disgusted," Charmayne commented and he nodded.

"Yep, listen to her," John nodded. "I’m not desperate to root around some bloke’s dirty underwear."

"The code says you'd root around a _girl's_ dirty laundry," Charmayne spoke again, and John looked at her. His face grew pink and mouth hung open.

"I--I... That's..." He couldn't finish his sentence. Sherlock turned away, but there was a smile on his face.

Sherlock got back to work and turned to the bed post. "Those symbols at the bank --- the graffiti. Why were they put there?"

John looked away from Charmayne and cleared his throat, "What, some sort of code?" He asked.

"Why were they painted?" Sherlock asked as he checked the man's legs. Charmayne stared at the dead man on the floor. His code said old, secretive. His clothes were shiny, but a few had been dripped on by blood. "If you want to communicate, why not use e-mail?"

Charmayne studied the body with intent, her eyes curious. He wasn't in any state to be depressed and the code saw a tan line around his ring finger. It was old and long-past faded.

"Well maybe he wasn't answering," John suggested and Sherlock nodded.

"Oh good. You're following," he replied, messing around the desk, picking up a few intricately pre-placed pens before putting then back in their prior position.

"No," John admitted. Sherlock narrowed his eyes at him before he turned around towards the body and bent towards the man's hands. He twisted it gently as He examined the hand.

"What kind of a message would everyone try to avoid?" Sherlock asked, not looking away from his work. John only frowned, puzzled and Sherlock sighed from his lack of response. "What about this morning --- those letters you were looking at?"

"Paper," Charmayne suggested, and John said, "Bills."

Sherlock finally got to the mouth, prying it open with a hiss of the dead-man's lungs, tbe oxygen leaving him. "Yes," Sherlock nodded, as if convincing himself of his own words. "He was being threatened." Then, he pulled out a black flower. Sherlock put it in a plastic bag and continued to investigate.

Charmayne heard a man calling orders outside the room as Sherlock talked. "Bag this up, will you... Not by the gas board... And see if you can get prints off this glass," Then, he stepped in the bedroom.

The code read that he was tall and young. He was also a police officer, by the badge he wore. Charmayne read that he was arrogant, obsessed with his title and women. He was no older than 25. He had a pet dog. He lived alone. He wasn't married, but frequently went on dates. His eyes were narrowed at Sherlock, he didn't like him.

"Ah, Sergeant. We haven’t met," Sherlock said, holding out his hand to him.

Blue Man put his hands on his hips, and frowned. "Yeah, I know who you are," he said, as if annoyed by Sherlock's prescense. "And I’d prefer it if you didn’t tamper with any of the evidence." He lowered his hand expectantly, and Sherlock reluctantly handed the plastic bag to the man. Charmayne saw that Sherlock did not look happy.

"I’ve phoned Lestrade," Sherlock commented. "Is he on his way?"

"He’s busy.  _I’m_  in charge," Blue Man said, turning his nose up at Sherlock. "And it’s not Sergeant; it’s _Detective Inspector_ Dimmock." Sherlock's eyebrows knit together in surprise. Then, he turned to John who was equally shocked.

Blue Man walked out of the room and Sherlock, John, and Charmayne followed. "We're obviously looking at a suicide."

"That does seem the only explanation of all the facts," John agreed as Sherlock turned to him, taking off his gloves.

  
"Wrong. It’s one  _possible_  explanation of  _some_  of the facts," He told John, them turned to the Blue Man. "You’ve got a solution that you like, but you’re choosing to ignore anything you see that doesn’t comply with it."

"Like?" Blue Man asked, eyebrow raised.

"The wound is in the right side of his head," Sherlock said.

"And?" Blue Man was not happy.

"He was left-handed," Sherlock explained, then moved his right arm around his head to show his point.  "Requires a bit of contortion."

"Left-Handed?" Blue Man did not look convinced.

"Oh, I’m amazed you didn’t notice," Sherlock stated. "All you have to do is look around this flat." He pointed to the table, and began to talk at a rapid pace. "Coffee table on the left-hand side; coffee mug handle pointing to the left. Power sockets: habitually used the ones on the left. Pen and paper on the left-hand side of the phone because he picked it up with his right and took down messages with his left." Sherlock turned back to Blue Man, "D’you want me to go on?"

"No," John spoke up, and he sounded tired. Charmayne looked at him. "I think you've got all of it." Sherlock began to talk anyway, but Charmayne wasn't listening.

"The code says you're sleep-feeling," she told John softly, and he frowned, then shook his head.

"No, I'm fine," he assured. "Look, this, uh, looks serious. Do you wanna go home?" Charmayne looked at her shoes. Were they going to have to talk to Talk Giotto again? She didn't want to see him anymore. But, she also didn't want to go home either. This was... Charmayne didn't know how to describe it. It made her heart race, almost like it did before the House Lady hit her, but it felt good. Charmayne liked it. She liked it a lot.

She shook her head firmly, her long dreads curling around her face before falling limp down her back. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," Charmayne said, and John sighed helplessly.

"Well, then, get ready. Judging by how Sherlock looks, we might be leaving soon." Charmayne glanced over, and it was true. Sherlock had pulled away from the scene and had put his hat and gloves on.

"But if his door was locked from the inside, how did the killer get in?" Blue Man asked, confused.

Sherlock turned and walked out the doorway. "Good! You’re finally asking the right questions." Charmayne gripped her bear tight and followed behind him. She was really beginning to enjoy this.


	11. 00110001 00110000

**Chapter Ten:**

After they had left, Charmayne, John, and Sherlock entered a restaurant where they found Tall Giotto eating with a few other men. Talk Giotto was in the middle of laughing as he said, "... And he's left trying to sort of cut his hair with a fork, which of course can _never_ be done!"

"It was a threat," Sherlock told the man. He turned to look at him, slightly annoyed by his interupption. "That's what the graffiti meant."

"I'm kind of in a meeting," Tall Giotto said with a underlining tone of scorn. "Can you make an appointment with my _secretary_?"

"I don't think this can wait," Sherlock said bluntly, crossing his arms. "Sorry, Sebastian. One of your traders --- someone who worked in your office --- was killed."

Talk Giotto was holding a glass of water and he nearly dropped it in surprised. " _What_?"

" _Van Coon_. The police are at his flat," John replied, trying for at least a bit of sympathy.

"Sorry to interfere with everyone's digestion," Sherlock said, his eyes narrowed and his voice flat. "Still wanna make an appointment? Would, maybe, nine o'clock at Scotland Yard suit?"

**» - » - » - »**

Although both John and Tall Giotto disagreed, Charmayne was brought into the men's bathroom in the restaurant where they spoke. "She shouldn't be in here," Tall Giotto said, his arms crossed over his chest. "She's a _little girl_ \---"

"Someone just murdered one of your clients," Sherlock interuppted. "Excuse me for being reluctant to leave her alone while in contact with you."

John pursed his lips, "We could've left her with a waitor, or something."

"You mean a _stranger_? I'd rather not."

Tall Giotto decided that there was no arguing with Sherlock, and instead began to speak. He washed his hands, simply all he would have something to do with them. "Harrow; Oxford. Very bright guy. Worked in Asia for a while, so..."

"You gave him the Hong Kong accounts," John finished, bewildered.

He grabbed a paper towel, carefully drying his clean hands. "Lost five mill in a single morning; made it all back a week later," he sighed, leaning against the counter. "Nerves of steel, Eddie had."

"Who'd wanna kill him?" John asked, but Tall Giotto shook his head.

"We _all_ make enemies," he explained simply.

"You don't _all_ end up with a bullet through your temple," John retorted and then Tall Giotto's phone buzzed.

He pulled it out and read the message. "Not usually. 'Scuse me," He murmured, his eyes scanning the phone.

Charmayne saw his posture tighten and his eyes narrow. His fingers clenched the phone and he almost glared at it. "It's my Chairman," he explained. "The police have been on to him. Apparently they're telling him it was a _suicide_."

"Well, they got it wrong, Sebastian," Sherlock said, as if he had predicted this turn of events. "He was murdered."

"Well, I'm afraid _they_ don't see it like that," He countered, cruising his arms.

" _Seb_ ," Sherlock said, his voice firm.

"And neither does my boss," Tall Giotto continued. "I hired you to do a job. Don't get side-tracked." Then, he stepped around Sherlock, passed Charmayne, and left the bathroom.

John scoffed and turned to Sherlock. "I thought bankers were all supposed to be heartless bastards...!"

**» - » - » - »**

Charmayne ran into the ground level kitchen as soon as they hit back. Inside, was Ms. Hudson, and she smiled when she saw Charmayne. "I see you're back, lovely!" She greeted. Then, waved Charmayne over. She cane and Ms. Hudson kissed her forehead.

Charmayne had been letting Ms. Hudson --- and, sometimes John --- kiss her forehead. It was a small improvement, but an improvement nonetheless. "What did you do today, love?"

"We--We went to this big light building, and talked to a Tall Giotto. He wasn't very nice. Then, we saw a dead person, who was warm. Then, we went back to Tall Giotto, and he was a--a little nicer."

"Did you have fun?" Ms. Hudson asked, pleased. Charmayne nodded, a bit distracted over what she was cooking. "I'm making a soup," she explained, motioning to what the code read as a black pot. It was steaming and very, very hot. "It should be done in a few hours, alright?" Charmayne nodded. "Good! Have you finished all your schoolwork?" Charmayne twisted her fingers. Then, she shook her head. Ms. Hudson was in charge of her making sure she finished everything she needed to finish. "I need you to go finish that, then we can make some chocolate biscuits later, alright?"

Charmayne nodded and left the room. She grabbed her school bag and hurried up the steps. She opened the door to room 221B and sat quietly on the couch, pulling up her bag. She worked on the rest of her papers like Mrs. Hudson instructed. Sherlock stepped out of the kitchen and into the sitting room. Charmayne stood when she finished and walked over to his chair as he moved to sit down.

"Yes, Charmayne?" He asked the girl once he was settled.

"Can... Can I read one of the books?" She asked carefully.

"Yes, you may," he replied and Charmayne went to the bookshelf, grabbing the one at the very bottom, left hand corner. Then, she took it back to the sofa and began to read.

Sherlock waited, he was going over the crime scene photographs, watching each particular detail. After a minute, he decided to print them all out.

Hours passed as they were in each other's company, silent but comfortable. Charmayne stood from the couch and put the book back, grabbing a new, particularily thick one and beginning to read. John came from the hallway and glanced at her and Sherlock. "What're you reading?" He asked curiously, coming to her side.

"' _The 1842 Swamp Killer was a phenomenon, mainly because of the style of his victims. Since he used the maws of a alligator to finish kill is victims, nobody suspected them to be murdered_ \---'"

"What book are you reading?" John asked, adjusting his question.

"' _The Man and His Prey_ ', nonfiction, by Harrison Lucas," Charmayne said. "Written 1937, published by Gatterion Ford Publishing Inc. First Edition." She looked up at John and gave a hesitant smile. "It is well written. I like the words."

This pleased John and he gave her a kiss on her forehead. Charmayne didn't look up from her book, but he noticed a faint smile on her lips. "I'll be right back," he said, grabbing his coat and leaving the apartment.

**» - » - » - »**

Charmayne read for hours on end. She didn't stop until she was completely finished with the entirety of the bottom level, and even after that, she kept reading, going to the level on top.

Eventually it was time for dinner and John made her put the book down so she could eat, and she did. When she finished eating, she went back to the couch to read.

Charmayne was fascinated. She didn't read many books, but this _intriguing_. The words mixed and melted making her imagine things she never thought she could with just her code. The books held entire Binaries, entire _worlds_ , in between their pages.

Charmayne felt as if she couldn't read _enough_! How many books were there, she wondered. How could she read them all?

"Charmayne," the voice drew her out of hee thoughts. She jumped and looked up. Male. Short. Blonde. Army. John.

John gave her a kind smile, "I know you like the books, but it's time to go to sleep now." Charmayne gave a little pout and John chuckled.

"T--There are worlds in there," Charmayne said. "Big worlds. Big binaries, in the books." John rose an eyebrow, but Charmayne continued. "I... They---It is in the books. I didn't know they were there. There... So many _binaries_. _Je pensais que j'étais le seul. Je n'en savais pas plus existé. Je veux voir_ plus _..._ (I thought I was the only one. I didn't know more existed. I want to see _more_...)."

John pursed his lips, "You _know_ I don't speak French," he frowned, but Charmayne wasn't listening. She just mumbled to herself. John sighed and brought the blanket over her. "Goodnight, Charmayne," he said, kissing her forehead, before walking out and leaving the room.

Charmayne stared at the ceiling, wondering about the books and their binaries. She was so intruiged by it. She wanted to learn more and more. She wanted to read about all the binaries in the whole world!

Charmayne's eyes slowly drifted shut and she dreamed of the future stories she would read.

**» - » - » - »**

John left early the next morning, but he came back a few hours later. Charmayne was sitting on the ground, doing her schoolwork when he entered.

He put his coat away and bent down to kiss Charmayne's forehead. "I said, ' _Could you pass me a pen_ '?" Sherlock spoke and John rose, looking at him confused.

"When?" He asked.

"'Bout an hour ago."

John let out a sigh, "Didn't notice I'd gone, then," he muttered, grabbing a pen and tossing it to the man. "Yeah, I went to see about a job at that surgery." He explained.

"How was it?" He asked.

"It was great," John nodded, absentmindedly tapping his fingers on his hand. Charmayne froze. "She was great."

" _She_?" Sherlock questioned. John's thumping got louder. She swallowed hard, closing the school book. She remembered Giotto doing that steady, rhythmic beat as he entered her room, yanking her out of the closet where she hid with one hand, the other beating against his thigh.

"... _It_ ," John corrected and Sherlock gave a suspicious look, but decided to drop it.

"Here. Have a look," he said, motioning to his computer. On the screen Charmayne read as a news article, but John blocked it before she could find out what about.

John frowned, scanning the screen. "The ' _intruder who can walk through walls_ '," he read aloud, puzzled.

"Happened last night," Sherlock explained, moving the laptop away. "Journalist shot dead in his flat; doors locked, windows bolted from the inside - exactly the same as Van Coon."

John rose an eyebrow, stunned, "God... You think...?"

Sherlock's cold eyes narrowed, and Charmayne knew he was upset. He probably wouldn't let her come with him next time he goes out, if this is what is happening. His words were an icy cold and it gave Charmayne a chill as he spoke them. "He's killed another one."


End file.
